


Make Damn Sure

by SurlyCat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Businessman Cas, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Drinking to Cope, Dubious Morality, Emotional Baggage, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, Hate to Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Torture, Masturbation, Minor Injuries, Multi, PTSD, Paranoia, Rough Sex, Self-Hatred, Sexting, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Soldier Dean, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 124,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SurlyCat/pseuds/SurlyCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is not thrilled about taking an office job at one the most powerful media corporations in the country. His work has always been hands on, but when Charlie tells him about the job opening and its comfortable salary, the temptation is just too great to turn down. And really, it wouldn't be too bad if it weren't for the blue-eyed man that also works there. </p><p>Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester have crossed paths far too often over the last 12 years, with an unsavory outcome nearly every time. This time though, walking away is just not an option as they're forced to collaborate on a project and learn to navigate each other like civilized human beings. For Dean and Cas though, nothing ever goes quite according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Twelve Years

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! Looks like I finally got around to starting this bad boy after months of pining for more pretend!boyfriends/fake!married fics. 'Cause you know...want something done, you do it yourself and all that, and I'm a giant sucker for the trope. The title is taken from "MakeDamnSure" by Taking Back Sunday, if you're curious.
> 
> And just so you're aware, the fic will not be following the format of the first chapter, and is written in my normal style from chapter 2 onward. 
> 
> I know the boys are really just not nice to each other in the beginning, but please don't hate me...it won't stay that way for long. I want my babies to fall in love and have all the sex and fluff and snark just like the rest of you. If you've read any of my other stuff, you probably already know this about me. Anyway, this is probably going to be a pretty long one, with long chapters to boot, so grab provisions. Hope you enjoy!

**Kansas, February 2002**

Mom and Dad were going to kill him. Or worse, Mom was going to cry, and Dad was going to stomp off wordlessly to stew in the garage and leave Dean to tell Sam the news all by himself. It’s too late now though; he’d already signed the papers, and would be going off to basic training in about a month. Of course Dean didn’t want to go to Afghanistan; who the fuck would? But he’d heard the rumors that a draft was being considered, and there was no way he could just stand by, if every voluntary recruit would mean less need to enact a draft. He’d fucked around in high school, so it’s not like he had any aspirations of getting into a college or university. Freshly 19, all he had ahead of him was a lifetime in a garage and likely fathering illegitimate children at some point.

What was his life, after all, compared to all those other men who actually had families and goals? They didn’t deserve to have their lives uprooted just because people like Dean couldn’t be fucked to get up and do something. And as much as he didn’t want to hurt his family, Dean couldn’t regret his decision because deep down, he knew it was the right thing to do.

Dean had been walking aimlessly through town since he left the Army recruitment office, putting off going home as long as possible. It may have been childish, but he knew that it would be one of the last times that he would be allowed that luxury, if you could call it that, and figured he may as well take it before he was refashioned into a new creature by the United States Army.

As he walked, he caught the scent of coffee and pastries in the air and looked up to see a coffee shop he’d never noticed before just a couple doors down and decided to stop in. Maybe they had pie. If nothing else, it had started raining and he was hoping to take refuge for a minute until it passed.

The shop was surprisingly dead when Dean walked in, the only visible occupant in the place sitting at a table by the door, typing furiously into a laptop that looked more like a toy with its bright blue panels on the lid. The table was littered with papers and a small pile of books rested in the seat next to the guy, clearly a college student. Without pausing, the guy announced that he’d be right there, cocking his head toward the counter. Dean didn’t envy him whatsoever.

He perused the bakery case and was disappointed to see that it was full of delicate little pastries, only half of which he could pronounce, and not a damned pie to be found. Still though, he could at least get one of those fancy coffee drinks that Sam was always going on about, but Dean had always felt it too emasculating to purchase. Why not do it now, while he was alone with no one to mock him? Such frivolities would soon come to an end, after all.

“Are you ready to order?”

Dean startled at the man’s silent appearance behind the counter, but luckily managed not to gasp like some dainty little thing. He was glad of it too, because his first thought was ‘Oh shit, he’s hot,’ as he took in the shaggy hair, bright (although tired-looking) blue eyes, scruff that was bordering on a beard, and tight green Girl Scouts of America t-shirt that no doubt had come from a thrift shop. Dean was totally unsurprised when he glanced over and saw an ugly brown cardigan draped over the unoccupied chair. Dean didn’t normally dig the emo look, but it seemed to work well on this guy, even the ugly white belt with its large belt buckle that seemed to be dragging the guy’s jeans down, considering how low they hung. Dean realized he must have been staring when the guy quirked an impatient eyebrow at him.

“Uh…yeah, just…one of those mochaccino things,” Dean fumbled, feeling utterly foolish.

“That’s…not really a thing. Do you want a mocha, or a cappuccino?” The guy asked with the tone of a person that’s given a speech far too many times.

“Mocha, small,” he replied, willing an embarrassed blush away from his cheeks.

“Coming right up,” the guy said, already turning to make the drink.

The man moved with an impressive efficiency around the equipment, flicking levers and fiddling with knobs in a perfectly-timed dance around each step of the process; it was mesmerizing. Even the way his fingers flew nimbly over the register keys was something to behold.

“That’ll be $3.27.”

Impressive coffee-making forgotten, Dean gaped at the price, unable to justify how in the hell a non-alcoholic beverage could cost nearly the same as a meal at a fast food restaurant.

“Are you for real?”

“Excuse me?” Blue Eyes asked, a touch defensively.

“Overpriced as hell,” Dean muttered, pulling a five out of his wallet. “Better be made with the tears of Jesus,” he continued grumbling. When Dean looked up, the barista was frowning and blinking slowly.

“My apologies. I assumed that you could read the board,” the man said, voice dripping sarcasm as he gestured to the menu board behind the counter with a pointed flick of his wrist.

Dean knew he deserved the reaction, but something about the man’s ramrod straight posture and that fucking wrist flick bristled at him. Hotness be damned, Dean wanted to prod at the man, though he wasn’t sure exactly why. The man’s eyes narrowed into a squint and he shifted from one foot to the other as he prepared for Dean’s response.

“You know, the last time someone looked at me like that? I got laid,” Dean said with a smirk, tossing in a wink for good measure when the man’s scowl intensified.

The man slammed Dean’s change down on the counter and glared at him before turning around abruptly, irritation evident in the tight line of his shoulders as he started to clean up. It was a dismissal if Dean had ever seen one, and he was at once impressed and irritated with the man’s self-control.

Grabbing his drink, Dean stomped toward the door like the self-righteous asshole he’d been inexplicably acting like. Of course that façade could only last so long, though, as he slipped on a wet spot left by his own feet when he had entered by the door. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion then as he flailed backward, knocking over the table and everything on it with a mighty crash, watched helplessly as the cup left his hand, only to land with a lid-jarring thump on the laptop, spilling its contents as his back hit the floor.

Oh no. God, no.

Before he could even draw a breath, Blue Eyes was four feet away, staring with a horrified expression at the chaotic scene as the screen flickered and died on his laptop, and thick brown liquid slid from the keyboard to drip down on a pile of papers. He turned worried eyes on Dean too, then, but when Dean moved to sit up with only a soft groan, those blue eyes flicked back over to his now destroyed laptop.

“No,” the man said brokenly, face twisting in despair. “Nonononono!” he shouted, voice climbing in his panic.

Dean realized at that moment that he had just destroyed not only an extremely expensive piece of equipment, but possibly a very important assignment for the other man’s coursework.

“Fuck, man I’m so sorry,” Dean said, face flaming with embarrassment at every single moment that had passed since he walked in not ten minutes before.

The other man closed his eyes and took a shaky breath to reign himself in. Dean wasn’t sure whether the man was fighting back tears, or the urge to savagely beat Dean right then and there. He wouldn’t blame the man for either choice.

“You’re sorry?” Blue Eyes asked in a scarily quiet voice, followed by a soft huff of unamused laughter. “You’re sorry?!” he repeated, nearly shouting the last word, making Dean jump at the sheer intensity. “Sorry sure as _shit_ won’t bring my goddamned paper back, now will it?” The man ran a rough hand through his hair and laughed again, a desperate, maniacal sound, ending with a shouted string of curse words, some of which weren’t even English.

“I- I can…” Dean wasn’t sure what he was going to offer; it’s not like he or his family had an extra thousand bucks lying around, give or take. It didn’t matter though, because his words were cut off with a harsh shove to his shoulder and steely eyes boring into him that made his balls shrivel just a little.

“Get out,” Blue Eyes seethed. And Dean could have sworn those eyes were nearly glowing with righteous anger. “Now!” the man roared, when Dean didn’t immediately comply.

Dean didn’t need to be told again, and scrambled for the door, unconcerned for the rain that pounded down on him as he exited the cozy warmth of the coffee shop. He deserved every ice-cold drop that soaked his clothes and filled his shoes on the long walk home. Dean was ashamed that he’d been solely responsible for ruining the guy’s day, if not year, and right after acting like a complete dickhead, no less. By the time he got home, he’d resolved that he’d give Blue Eyes a couple days to cool off, and then return to offer some of his recruitment signing bonus. It might not replace the work the guy had done, but it would at least pay for the destroyed laptop.

When Dean called down to the coffee shop two days later though, he was informed rather tersely that the man had quit and that they would _not_ be handing out his contact information. Dean hadn’t even gotten the man’s name, and with nothing left to do about it, gave up on repaying the debt. The guilt sat heavy in his gut and didn’t let up until four months later, when he was too preoccupied with picking sand out of ungodly places on his body and listening for the tatting of nearby gunfire.

 

**Kansas, May 2005**

Castiel knew it was a long shot getting into this restaurant without a reservation, but damned if he wouldn’t try. He’d worked long and hard, and the end was finally in sight. In less than a week, he’d be officially done, master’s degree under his belt and first real job starting a week after that. Why not splurge a little and take himself and his brother out for a nice celebratory meal? Gabriel had tried to insist that it would be his treat, but Castiel’s pride would hear nothing of it. Somehow, he’d even managed to convince Gabriel to wear a suit, though Castiel was sure that outside of a funeral, the outfit would probably never happen again.

The maître d looked utterly unimpressed at their lack of reservation at seven o’clock at night, but put their names on the list anyway, just in case one of the parties with a reservation didn’t show. The Brothers Novak decided that they’d wait for one hour, and if they didn’t have any luck, they’d just head over to Red Lobster. Nearly thirty minutes in, Castiel excused himself to the restroom. When he returned back to the front, Gabriel was standing up with a tentative grin on his face, while a stormy faced man was having words with the maître d.

“You seriously gave my table away because we were three minutes late according to _your_ clock? Which by the way, isn’t even accurate. You see this?” The man held up his cell phone. “This says that we’re two minutes early.”

Castiel heard every word of it as he approached, but didn’t recognize the man until he looked up, and their eyes met. The man was much more handsome now, body filled out and tanned, jaw defined and shoulders broadened. He probably would’ve kept staring, if Gabriel hadn’t slung an arm around his waist and hauled him closer to the podium.

“Here we are!”

The maître d glanced uneasily between the three men, before finally turning away from Freckles.

“Right this way, sirs,” the man said.

Before they could take a step, Freckles reached out a hand, grabbing at Castiel’s elbow.

“Are you actually taking my reservation?” Freckles asked, a combination of despair and accusation in his voice.

Neither Novak responded, drawing up nearly identical poker faces.

“Oh come on! Look, I know I owe you one, a _big_ one, but please! This reservation was made months ago, and I’m probably not gonna have another opportunity to do it again for years!” Freckles pleaded.

Castiel felt his resolve starting to crumble at the sight of those wide green eyes, but then he remembered exactly who he was talking to and felt spitefulness, ugly and sharp rise up within him. His next words tumbled out unfiltered and in live time with his brain.

“I’m so fucking sorry, man,” Castiel said dryly, echoing Dean’s words back from years previous.

The green-eyed man gaped.

The spite turned even thornier when Castiel thought, _Good._ It wasn’t a behavior typical to Castiel, and judging by the shock on Gabriel’s face, he must have really outdone himself on the Vindictive Asshole front. Before he could change his mind though, Castiel squared his shoulders as he turned and nodded to the maître d, who had been watching the exchange with a worried look.

Without another word, the Novaks walked off to follow the server that had approached to show them to their table. Castiel had never been that rude or callous before in his life, and if his filet mignon settled in his stomach like cement because of it, no one else had to know.

 

**California, July 2007**

Dean had been back on American soil for two months, but only out of the hospital for one of those, and in California for less than a week. His ribs still throbbed, his left leg ached, and his hips were sore from compensating for the healing injuries. At least his pain pills were starting to kick in, though they barely put a dent in the aches. As much as he hurt though, he knew he was lucky to be alive; he really shouldn’t have survived that blast, much less the impact of hurtling tail-over-end in the Humvee he’d been in.

Mom and Dad had tried to convince him to stay with them after he’d been released from the hospital, but after two weeks he couldn’t handle any more of John’s haunted looks and Mary’s constant mother-henning. It had even provoked more than one argument between them, as John barked at her to leave Dean be, while Mary accused her husband of being unsupportive and distant. John and Mary had their problems, but Dean refused to help compound them and after they’d gone to bed one night, he called Sam and asked if he could move out to Stanford with him until he could get on his feet. Sam readily accepted, and John gifted Dean with the Impala to get him there.

Dean knew he shouldn’t be daring something as strenuous as a grocery trip after all the moving, but he’d promised Sam that he’d pull his weight and Dean would be damned if he fell back on that promise. Too prideful to make use of the temporary handicapped tag he’d been given, Dean was forced to park eight spaces out from the entrance to the store. The moment he opened his car door, an overwhelming wave of heat pushed against him, nearly stealing his breath. It felt like death, and he wondered for a minute how he’d survived the desert for five years. Still though, he hobbled inside, grateful for the dry cool air that greeted him in the entryway. He leaned heavily on the handle of the shopping cart as he rounded the aisles, regretting this shopping trip more and more with each step. By the time he was down to the last three items on the list, his stomach growled and he was reminded that he had forgotten to eat when he took the pain pills. And with that reminder came a wave of nausea. Stupid pain pills.

Fuck the last three items, he needed to pay and get back to his and Sam’s apartment pronto. Dean somehow made it through the checkout line and seemed to stabilize for a moment, until he stepped back outside and was hit yet again with the blast of hot California sunshine. Through sheer willpower alone, he managed to unload the groceries into the car, but his willpower gave out when he made it to the cart return structure. Dean had only just turned around to go back to the car and lost control, only barely grasping the hot metal railing before bending over and losing the meager contents of his stomach…right down the side of someone’s passing pant leg.

“Oh, Christ,” a deep voice groaned in disgust, before the leg moved away. But then it was back and a hesitant hand touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?” the voice asked softly.

It took a minute before Dean felt safe to straighten himself back up, and when he did, he was certain he must’ve been hallucinating. It just didn’t make sense; what the fuck was Blue Eyes doing here? Dean had seen him in Kansas the last time he was in the states on shore leave for his parents' failed attempt at an anniversary dinner. If Dean wasn’t mistaken, there was an undercurrent of guilt alongside the surprise in the other man’s eyes, but it just wasn’t enough. He was sick and in pain and pissed off at the memory. Dean managed to muster the energy to huff a laugh as he pointed at the soiled pant leg.

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer person,” Dean muttered, before stalking off to the Impala, two spaces away. When he stole a glance over the roof at the other man, it was clear that even as disgusted as Blue Eyes was with his clothing, Dean’s words really did cut him, and he felt a small flash of guilt. Not enough to risk getting out of the car again, but enough that it poked at him for the next week or so.

 

**California, October 2010**

Castiel had no idea why he agreed to go to this stupid Halloween party, other than the fact that Gabriel had practically hounded him about needing to get out and get laid. Or at least get off with another human being. At least it was a masquerade and not a regular costume party; he never would have agreed if he’d had to show up in some ridiculous costume. As it were, he’d just put on his most fitted trousers and matching waistcoat, both charcoal, with a light gray button-up rolled to the elbows, and a black tie to complete the look. Castiel knew his assets, and though his best facial feature (his eyes) was hidden behind the simple black mask, he could use his well-formed build to his advantage. Hell, he’d even taken the time to tame his hair into a manageable, well-groomed style.

So far though, no takers. Sure, he’d had plenty of female flirtations aimed at him during the evening, but that’s not what Castiel wanted, and hadn’t been for a number of years. While Gabriel was off charming any number of individuals, Castiel had been steadily getting drunker, sagging against a wall and bored out of his skull. Eventually, his bladder got the best of him, so he ambled down a hallway, checking door after door til he finally found the bathroom. The room was dimly lit with only a string of cheesy jack-o-lantern lights, but it was enough to make sure he didn’t miss the toilet, so he didn’t bother turning on the light. He’d just finished up and was washing his hands when a thunderous knock pounded on the door, nearly shaking it on its hinges.

“Come on man, hurry up! I’m dyin’ here!” a muffled voice bellowed through the door.

Castiel’s alcohol-addled brain didn’t quite process that the person could wait until he was done washing his hands, and without thinking he reached over and unlocked the door, soapy hand and all. Apparently, the man wasn’t kidding because the moment the lock was turned, the door swung open and the man barreled in, kicking the door closed behind him. Totally unconcerned for the fact that the room was still occupied, the man made straight for the toilet and wasted no time whipping his junk out to take the most forceful piss Castiel had ever heard. He couldn’t just leave with his hands all soapy, so Castiel went ahead and finished what he was doing, carefully averting his gaze and hoping that the other man was drunk enough to not really notice him standing there.

And it probably would’ve worked, except that the moment he shut the water off, the man’s head snapped over, the motion drawing Castiel’s attention. Instead of the cussing-out he was expecting though, the man just tucked himself back into his pants and smirked as he zipped up the fly. Castiel vaguely registered that the man was dressed like Zoro.

“See something you like?” the man asked with a husky voice.

Castiel just was not capable at the moment of deciphering whether that was a flirtation or a threat and he stumbled for a response. “I- uh, well that’s…”

The man closed the few feet between them with all the grace of a predatory cat and slid a hand up Castiel’s outer thigh before coming to rest on his hip and chuckled. “Can I take that as a yes?”

Swallowing thickly, Castiel nodded, unsure of where his vocabulary had run off too. Jesus, the man even smelled nice, beneath the obvious waft of scotch.

“Hmmm…you know somethin’? I kind of have a thing for the shy ones. They tend to scream the loudest,” the larger man purred as he leaned in nibble at Castiel’s ear. And lord help him, did he moan at that.

The larger man chuckled darkly against Castiel’s neck. “That’s what I like to hear,” he said, before pulling their hips together and moving in for a kiss.

The next minutes went by in a haze of greedy lips and moans and sloppy groping, both men getting hard fairly fast, considering their levels of intoxication. The man had Castiel pinned to the wall by his wrists and had inserted a thigh between Castiel’s; Castiel immediately took it for what it was and started rocking shamelessly against the other man’s leg.

“Nnnng, fuck! Gettin’ so hard, aren’t you baby? Bet your dick’s already getting wet for me, isn’t it?” the man muttered in Castiel’s ear, voice rough with lust.

Castiel moaned and bucked hard one more time before surprising the other man and spinning them to reverse their positions, the other man now pinned against the wall. Then Castiel leaned in and stole an utterly filthy kiss, tongue claiming every square inch of the other man’s mouth, earning a deep groan and a rock-hard cock rubbing against Castiel’s thigh.

Castiel reached down and palmed at the man’s bulge, pleased when he felt the wet patch forming at the front of his pants. “Acting a little cocky, aren’t we?” Castiel teased, voice much deeper than usual.

The other man laughed lightly at the play on words, but it broke off into a moan when Castiel removed his hand and started to grind in earnest, their equally hard cocks rubbing against each other through the layers of fabric. Both men got lost in the feeling after that, and Castiel could feel his orgasm approaching. He kept the man’s hands pinned to the wall as he dropped his forehead down to rest on the other man’s shoulder. He didn’t care that his mask had slid up on his sweat-slicked forehead; he was too far gone, and drunk, and he was about to get off- hard.

The other man’s moans had turned to pants and grunts.

“You close?” Castiel asked, muffled into the other man’s shirt

“Yeah,” the stranger huffed. But then he freed a hand and snaked it into the back of Castiel’s pants, and one single digit rubbed down his asscrack, just barely brushing over his hole over the fabric of his briefs.

“Oh god!” Castiel moaned brokenly, and that was it. Castiel’s orgasm crashed over him and he shuddered as he felt the hot liquid release in his pants. He grunted a couple times, jerking as aftershocks took him over. He realized then that the stranger hadn’t gotten off yet and reached down to palm him.

Unfortunately, that was the moment that the door flung open, and the light was flipped on in one fast motion. Both men looked up to see a red-faced girl immediately dart back out and then turned to look at each other. Then the taller man gasped and pushed Castiel away while simultaneously lifting his own mask and blinking hard.

Abso-fucking-lutely, just…no.

Castiel Novak, 30 year old business professional at a Fortune 500 company did not just come in his pants like a teenager from a drunken, impromptu dry humping session with the one man that…fuck. When he dared glance at Freckles, the man was rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck, erection still prominent as ever, and eyes darting every few seconds to the wet spot on Castiel’s pants.

“I…shit,” Castiel said intelligently, still at a loss, and turning to grab for the door.

Then Freckles did something unexpected and pulled Castiel back in by the elbow to stand in front of him and popped the top button on his waistcoat. Castiel flinched backward.

“I don’t… this probably isn’t…”

“Calm down, asshat, I’m helping you out here,” Freckles said gently, resuming the unbuttoning with efficient movements.

Castiel let him, more out of curiosity than anything, even allowing the man to go so far as to push it off of his shoulders. Then the man folded the waistcoat neatly in half length-wise, pulled Castiel’s arm out, and draped the fabric over his arm, before pushing the forearm down a little bit in front of him.

“There,” the man said, turning Castiel by the shoulders to look at himself in the mirror. Oh. Yeah, the waistcoat did help to hide the evidence; he’d been so flustered he hadn’t even thought of that. Castiel could feel a flush rising up his neck and into his ears.

“Thanks,” Castiel murmured, then turned and left the bathroom promptly, hoping to any deity that would listen that that would be the last time the two ever had to see each other.

 

**California, August 2012**

Dean sat down at his kitchen table for a task that he’d been dreading for over a month now; time to re-evaluate the money situation. He’d been really good with his money, saving every penny that he could while he’d worked for the San Francisco police department, and then on their S.W.A.T. team. But when he’d had to resign, the money started drying up fast, even with the freelance security gigs. And now it seemed he had a choice to make: which bills to put off, which to cut out, and where he could cut back.

After an hour of shuffling papers and doing calculations, the message was clear: he could afford exactly his rent and utilities, car insurance, a prepaid phone, and minimal groceries at the rate things were going. With a groan, he slumped over the table, lacing his fingers behind his neck. No more health insurance or cable or internet or even fast food. Fuck. He was going to have to get a second job. He let himself wallow at the table for a couple more minutes before coming to a decision.

Today was Saturday, so there’s no way he could do anything about it for the rest of the weekend, but come Monday, he’d hit the pavement. For now though, he still had about $400 in the bank and another fifty in his wallet. If he was about to have to buckle down, he may as well go out with one last bang and get laid and/or drunk, depending on where the evening took him. Decision made, Dean checked himself over in the mirror, and satisfied that he looked fairly do-able, left his apartment.

He figured he may as well be smart enough to try and save on the possibility of cab fare and decided to go to the bar down the block from his apartment building. The wait staff and patrons were friendly, the atmosphere was comfortable, and the beer on tap was cheap. Walking in, he automatically scanned the crowd, not particularly concerned about whether he was with a man or a woman for the night. After a few possibilities were noted, he made for the bar and took a seat. A blonde man he’d never seen before came around the bar, offering him a lazy smile and a wink when he took Dean’s order. The man was attractive enough, but he wasn’t really Dean’s type, and he knew that bartenders flirt for tips anyway, so it wasn’t really an option.

Three women and two men had approached him within an hour, but none of them seemed to be quite what he was wanting. Not that he knew what he wanted, but it certainly wasn’t them. Dean was just about to reach for his wallet and give up for the night and just drink by himself at home, when the bartender came around to the other side and sat next to him.

“No one quite catching your fancy, darling?” the man asked, smirking. His British accent was kind of charming. _Kind of_.

“No, not really,” Dean said with a small grin.

“Pity, they don’t know what they’re missing out on,” the man said, hand slithering up Dean’s thigh as he leaned closer into Dean’s personal space.

Dean was enjoying the attention, but wasn’t really feeling it. Still though, it looked like the guy was in for a quick lay, and that was pretty much what Dean had come here for, right?

“You know,” the man said conspiratorially, “I’m on break for the next fifteen minutes, if you’d like to see how fancy my mouth can get,” he said crassly.

The next thing Dean knew, there was a beer being dumped over his head, and a hand slapping across the other man’s face. Stunned, Dean turned to see- no, goddammit- those fucking blue eyes that were pretty much burned into his brain now. Shitfuckingdamn. He immediately leapt from his seat, already grabbing for his jacket.

“I didn’t know…” Dean trailed off, words dying in his mouth as he received that ball-shriveling stare that had sent him running from the coffee shop ten years ago. It only lasted a moment though, before Blue Eyes turned to look at the bartender, who was probably getting the look, at least two-fold.

 _Good,_ Dean thought, _the cheating bastard deserves to have his testicles crawl back up in his body and never come back out._

“You’re going to finish your shift and give me time to pack your shit up, and you will come retrieve it from the porch after I’ve left for work in the morning. If it is still there by the time I get home, it will go in the trash. Understood?” Blue Eyes growled.

By this point, Dean had his jacket on and had already found a rag to wipe his face down with. He muttered a soft ‘sorry’ at Blue Eyes as he passed by on his way out. He figured the smarmy asshole bartender could pick up his tab, just because. Blue Eyes gave him one last glare, though not quite as powerful, before turning back to what now seemed to be his ex-boyfriend.

Dean exited the bar, grateful that he lived nearby because he smelled like a brewery and knew that he had no business being inside a vehicle at the moment. As he walked home, he groaned in frustration. The last time he’d seen Blue Eyes, it seemed like something had shifted just a little from the hate, but apparently not. Not that Dean blamed the man for his reaction, but still; if he’d found any other pair of eyes looking back at him, Dean would have come up swinging after having a beer dumped on him. It kind of pissed him off that he was the first ‘victim’ of the attack, rather than the asshole boyfriend, though. Like Dean was the one saying that crass shit or something.

 

**The next day**

Castiel had spent the night digging through every corner of his house, throwing Balthazar’s things in a laundry basket at his hip as he went. He didn’t realize just how long he’d been at it, pulling the closets and bookcases apart, until his alarm was going off for work. Once he’d turned it off, Castiel took a look around and realized that he’d practically destroyed the house, trying desperately to make sure that there was no trace of Balthazar in it. He made a snap decision and called into work, gathered his keys, and left Balthazar’s ten months’ worth of things in a heap on the porch. Castiel needed cleaning supplies and to be away from the house for a minute.

When he got to the store, he saw an excellent parking space about to open up, but then noticed a beast of a car already waiting, turn signal politely on. When he got a good look at the driver though, something snapped inside of Castiel; the driver was none other than fucking Freckles. Of course. Because apparently, the man is going to always show up at the worst possible time. He calculated briefly whether he could scoot his little car in faster than the behemoth and decided that yes, yes he could. The moment the space was clear enough, Castiel whipped in, a bitter thrill of victory rushing up his spine. Without sparing so much as a glance, Castiel exited his car and flipped a double bird high in the air as he walked toward the store entrance. It certainly wasn’t his most mature moment, but he wasn’t exactly thinking clearly at the moment, either.

Before he could make it to the door, the stubborn bastard had pulled around him, window rolled down.

“Dude, I swear I-“

“Fuck off, Freckles!” Castiel shouted, drawing more than one concerned look his way.

Freckles scowled and then did exactly as he was bid and peeled out without another word. Castiel ignored the looks he was getting and stomped into the store, yanking a cart more forcefully than necessary from the row and proceeding straight to the cleaning supplies. Up until now, his anger had died down into something more frantic, but now- seeing the green-eyed man had refueled it all over again. Castiel felt like his blood had turned to hot acid, barely contained in his body.

Balthazar had accused him of being boring and possessive, claiming that he needed to relax and ‘lighten up a little’, ‘pull that stick out of your ass’. Then the bastard had the gall to suggest that ‘if you hadn’t scared the man off, we might have gotten to keep him around for the night, you know. You, me, and Freckles could’ve had a lot of fun.’ Not that Castiel was attached to the green-eyed man, lord knows he’d been a pain in Castiel’s ass more often than not, but something about Balthazar using the moniker that Castiel had privately designated for the man in his own head had triggered an anger that Castiel rarely felt.

Castiel was hurt and angry, and fucking done with dating. This was the second time he’d been cheated on by a lover, and that was enough. No more.


	2. A Fresh Start...sort of

Dean can’t help but wonder if he’s made the right decision as he looks up at the massive building in front of him that houses Rex Media Group. The first day of any new job is bound to come with some jitters, but this feels different; this feels like defeat, despite the comfortable salary awaiting him. He gives himself a full minute to finish his coffee, square his shoulders, and convince himself that he’s doing the right thing before walking into the building, tossing the empty coffee cup in the trash can just inside the entrance.

He’s fairly certain that if he makes eye contact for too long with any of the other business professionals milling about the lobby that they’ll somehow just _know_ that he doesn’t belong here. It doesn’t matter that he’s suited up with a tie and expensive shoes just like the rest of them; he doesn’t carry himself with the cool, polite demeanor that fancy office jobs seem to demand. Dean Winchester still carries himself like a soldier, a purposeful movement to his stride that speaks of a man on a mission with no time for bullshit.

When he reaches the information desk, some of his self-consciousness melts away as he’s greeted with the sight of Charlie Bradbury, a beacon of light in a sea of dark suit jackets. Dean can’t help but smile at the red-head, whose hair looks even brighter with the lime green jacket that’s layered over a navy blue t-shirt with tiny little white cartoon-y cats on it, and a pair of jeans. Dean winces a bit as he takes in the bright yellow converse on her feet; they kind of hurt to look at. She’s leaning casually against the side of the desk and tapping away at a tablet, oblivious to the wrinkled noses of the professionals walking past her. Or more likely, she just doesn’t give a shit.

“Hey,” Dean greets her casually.

Charlie doesn’t startle, just smiles and holds up a finger in a ‘hang on’ gesture as she continues looking at the device, confirming his no-shits-given theory. After a few more taps to the screen, she tucks it under her arm and turns her smile on Dean.

“Hey yourself, Winchester.”

Then she sweeps her eyes appraisingly over Dean and smirks.

“The montage was totally worth it, dude. You look spiffy as hell,” she says smugly.

Dean rolls his eyes dramatically at the memory of the frankly exhausting shopping trip that Charlie had dragged him on to get new clothes for the job; he only owned two suits. He’d spent a fair amount of time grumbling about the fact that Charlie didn’t have to abide by the dress code until she grabbed him by the ear and told him that he was acting like an overgrown man-child and that she was indispensable, that’s why. Dean had wisely chosen not to comment on the fact that she was wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt at the time.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbles.

At this, Charlie’s smile calms down into a small grin as she grabs his elbow to lead him toward the elevator bank.

“It’ll be fine, Dean. I know this isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but it’s not so bad,” she says reassuringly, wrangling the both of them into an open elevator.

Dean offers her a half-smile as they crowd in with four other employees, waiting for their stop at the fifth floor, where the Human Resources and Security departments share a space. When they arrive, Charlie waves her employee ID over a small panel attached to the wall next to a set of double doors and a loud click announces that the doors are unlocked for them to pass through. Dean follows behind her, memorizing the maze of hallways she leads them through and noting the placement of the security cameras that are mounted every so often along the walls.

“Alright, here we are,” Charlie says with a flourish, as they come to a heavy wooden door with yet another security panel mounted next to it. There isn’t a sign or placard indicating what is beyond the door, and if it weren’t for the panel, it would probably look like it led to a supply closet. Dean takes the flourish as indication to use his own badge and the door unlocks with a hushed snick, only noticeable because the hallway is silent.

The moment the door is opened, the smell of coffee and warm plastic that can only indicate multiple electronics running wafts out, and Dean is unsurprised to find the small room covered wall to wall in computer monitors. A small, tired-looking looking man with a beard glances up guiltily from his desk at their arrival, obviously not expecting anyone to walk in while he was pouring booze from a flask into his coffee mug.

Charlie gives the man a pointed look. “Jesus, Chuck. It’s not even first break,” she sighs, pleased when Chuck has the decency to look at least a little embarrassed and mumbles something vaguely apologetic.

“Dean, this is Chuck Shurley. I won’t bore you with the details, but just know that his job is to predict the most likely threats to the company coming from actual people. He basically monitors the social networks and blogs and stuff to keep an eye out for the crazies.”

Chuck gives Dean a little nod of confirmation before he speaks. “And you’re Dean Winchester, here to make sure that our surveillance and security protocols for the building are up to par. I can only assume that includes keeping an eye out for suspicious employee behaviors, though it isn’t listed in your job description,” he says, scrubbing tiredly at one eye.

“Uh…no one’s said anything to me about babysitting employees,” Dean says, eyebrows knit, and a little put off that Chuck already knows about him, regardless of the fact that the man’s job is to know everything.

“No, but they will,” Chuck mutters, turning back to his work and effectively ending the conversation.

Dean looks to Charlie, who just gives him a little nod-and-shrug. “We call him The Prophet for a reason,” she says by way of explanation. “Moving on though, my job is network security. I keep an eye out for electronic security breaches, and I’ll just leave it at that before your eyes glaze over.”

Dean snorts, relieved that Charlie doesn’t feel the need to go into the ones and zeros of what she does because he’s certain that his eyes would indeed glaze over. Instead, she gets right to it, showing him the various programs he’ll need to use and giving him the run-down of how their days tend to go with breaks and whatnot. After a solid two hours of navigating screens, setting up email and passwords, and getting his voicemail set up for his desk phone, Dean leans back in his seat and rubs his eyes, wondering how in the hell he’s going to manage spending hours a day looking at all this crap.

“Take a break, Dean,” Charlie says, without looking away from her monitors at her own desk a few feet away.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Dean replies, groaning around a stretch that makes his back pop like a machine gun.

He really isn’t used to sitting for so long at a time, so he opts to take the stairs down to the first floor where the cafeteria is located, enjoying using his muscles and avoiding the crowded space of the elevators. When he reaches the first floor, Dean only gets as far as sticking his hand out for the door handle when the door suddenly flies open, knocking him off balance and sprawling onto his ass. It’s all very dignified.

“Oh shit! Are you okay?”

Dean snaps his head up at the same time he hears the deep gravelly voice and is met with a pair of wide blue eyes that have him groaning ‘whyyyyy’ internally.

“Ever used a door, asshole?” Dean snaps, getting to his feet.

The man crouching in front of him frowns as he stands up as well, all semblance of concern abruptly forgotten as recognition takes over his features. They’re standing a little too close, a challenge in their defensive posturing as they stare each other down. Blue Eyes glances down to Dean’s badge where it’s clipped to a belt loop at his hip and squints, jaw ticking for a moment before he finally responds.

“I don’t believe I’m the one being an asshole right now, but then again, I’m not versed on the social mores of Neanderthals,” Blue Eyes says with an irritatingly calm voice and feigned innocence that has Dean’s blood pressure skyrocketing.

“Well, you should be,” Dean spits, hating that his comeback is so lame. Because now, depending on how it’s taken, it could very well sound like he was admitting that he was a Neanderthal and that Blue Eyes should make concessions for it. Shit.

Blue Eyes squints again, but there’s an undercurrent of confusion there, and that’s even worse; nothing drives home the ‘fuck you’ sentiment like an insult that doesn’t make sense to the recipient. Infuriatingly, the man simply shrugs and walks past Dean and up the stairs without another word.

Dean muses on the exchange as he goes through the cafeteria, glad that there’s a short-order station where he can order a BLT. The exchange may have been frosty, but at least there wasn’t any shouting or rude gestures this time. It’s been two years since they last saw each other, and Dean honestly wasn’t expecting to see Blue Eyes here, though he realizes he probably should have seen it coming a mile away. After all, it seems like the man always seems to pop up right when Dean’s life is most unsettled, or something new is happening. And now they’re stuck in the same building.

When Charlie had first told him about the position opening up with Security, Dean had cut her off mid-sentence and flat out refused to consider it because there was no way in hell he was going to become a fat old man strolling the hallways with a flashlight and parking his ass in front of a screen most of the night. With an exemplary eyeroll and a smack to his bicep, Charlie had continued on, explaining that it was company security, not grounds security. To distinguish the two, the campus security guards and their station were called Courtesy. When she informed him of the likely salary and benefits, his eyes had nearly bugged out of his head; the pay alone had his attention, let alone the fact that Rex Media also happened to be playing Mama Bear to a fellowship program with the legal firm that represented the company. Sam was about to graduate law school, and if Dean could find a way to get Sam in on that fellowship from the inside, it would set his up his legal career for life.

And really, Dean knew that deep down, there really wasn’t much of a decision to be made about accepting the job. He’d been doing freelance event security and body guard work for a few years now, and while he was good at his job and it paid well when he scored the right gig, it obviously didn’t come with benefits. More than once, he’d had to turn down a gig because he was sick and couldn’t afford the doctor’s bill; he’d never bothered reinstating his health insurance policy, because even once he’d gotten over that one financial bump, it just wasn’t affordable. What Dean needed was health insurance and paid time off, and this job would offer that and then some. When it came down to it, Dean knew that as much as he didn’t want an office job, he would be a fool to turn it down.

So here he is, sitting in the Security office of one of the most powerful companies in the world, dressed like a proper professional and staring at his first-ever personal work phone. Charlie had been kind enough to leave him alone about trying to get any actual work done today; it’s not like they had any superiors, not really. When it came down to it, Security was its own sort of little bubble, completely self-reliant with mostly just Fergus Crowley, the CEO, and HR to answer to. Crowley rarely came around, according to Charlie, and HR reps only piped up when possible threats were perceived within the personnel.

“Charlie? I work in the Nerd Cave, don’t I?”

Charlie gives him an almost-glare that really was just cute rather than threatening. “Maybe. But I only consider conceding that point because our little room qualifies as a cave more so than the entire floor of Dilberts below us, in IT.”

Dean snorts and is surprised to hear a soft chuckle come from Chuck’s corner of the room; the man had been so quiet that Dean had nearly forgotten he was there a couple of times.

“And don’t even try to act like you don’t belong in The Nerd Cave,” Charlie continues. “Or have you forgotten about your stash of LARPing and cosplay costumes hidden in the back of my closet, Kirk?” she smirks.

“Hey, I kick ass at Kirk! No way am I apologizing for that,” Dean grins. “And they aren’t ‘hidden’. I just don’t have room at my place.”

Charlie gives him a dry look and hums, but doesn’t comment. Once she’s turned back to her screens, Dean sees a smirk settle on her lips, but doesn’t bother extending the conversation. Figuring he may as well at least attempt to do some of what he’s been hired to do, Dean pulls up the mainframe for Courtesy; he should probably check out the building schematics and start going over the camera placement and looking at the types of locks they use. He’s supposed to have clearance for damn near every system but the financials at Rex Media Group, so he frowns deeply when the screen pops up with a giant ‘ACCESS DENIED’ message. Before he can say anything to Charlie, his desk phone rings, startling him.

Charlie and Chuck look up simultaneously, looking equally confused. He picks up, not entirely sure how he’s supposed to answer, and goes for generic.

“Security, this is Winchester.”

Dean’s greeted by a rough chuckle before the voice finally speaks, thick with a distinct Louisiana accent.

“I know. This is Benny down at Courtesy, and you ain’t touchin’ any of that system til we have a little talk,” Benny says calmly.

“Look, no offense man, but this is my job, and isn’t it a little above your clearance?” Dean asks, uneasy with the fact that a freakin’ mall cop seems to be able to shut his shit down. This is The Nerd Cave, dammit!

“No offense to you either, brotha’, but seein’ how you’re sittin’ in my old seat, I think you could probably use some information before you go pokin’ round,” Benny says, voice calm.

Dean puts the phone on mute and turns to Charlie and Chuck.

“It’s Benny from Courtesy, wants to talk. Does he even have clearance to talk about this?” Dean asks, pointing at his computer screen.

Chuck just shrugs, leaving it to Charlie to explain.

“Yeah, Benny has the clearance. He runs Courtesy now, and HR left his credentials alone. It wasn’t a demotion or anything, he just wanted a change, but I’ll let him tell you about that,” Charlie finishes with a sad look. “But yeah, go talk to him, he could probably help you out a lot.”

Dean nods and un-mutes the headset. “Alright. You want me to come to you?”

“Yeah, come on down. Got my own office, so we’ll have enough privacy,” Benny agrees.

“Alright, be down there in a minute,” Dean replies before hanging up.

When Dean reaches Benny’s office, he is completely unsurprised by the man’s burly appearance except for one detail: the man’s posture is noticeably formal, despite his easy gait as he comes around the desk, already holding out a hand.

“Benny Lafitte,” he offers, eyes twinkling even as he gives Dean a calculating look.

“Dean Winchester, but you already knew that,” Dean says evenly, giving a firm handshake.

Benny nods, only a trace of a smile on his face as he gestures for Dean to have a seat.

“What branch?” Dean asks, eager to see if his assumption was correct.

“Army, but I haven’t seen that kind of action since the Gulf,” Benny says easily.

Dean frowns at this. “You don’t look old enough for that.”

Benny’s eyes light with amusement, but he only chuckles. “Well thank you, but I’m older than I look.”

They watch each other for a good ten seconds, each sizing the other up, but neither man is offended by it; it’s second nature to both of them. Finally, Benny leans back in his seat, lacing his fingers over his stomach, seemingly satisfied with what he’s found in Dean’s face.

“So, let’s talk about your gig, because I have a feeling you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground when it comes to this.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue the point, but Benny simply holds up a hand and continues on.

“Not sayin’ anything about your abilities or experience. But there are some things that you need to know that would be easier if someone just told you, rather’n havin’ to just find out as you go,” Benny says.

“Alright then, lay it on me,” Dean says, mirroring Benny’s posture and leaning back.

Benny nods and stands up at that.

“First order, then, is we gotta get you familiarized with the building. You up for a tour?”

Dean is actually relieved and stands up, more than glad to have something hands-on to do with his job. Plus, from the few minutes they’ve been around each other, Benny seems pretty genuine in his need to actually help Dean, and he can use all the pointers he can get. Not that he 100% trusts the guy yet, but if Dean’s going to be stuck in this place, he may as well take advantage of the help.

“Lead the way,” Dean says with a gesture at the door.

 

***

Over the next three weeks, Dean and Benny had formed a routine, meeting each day to discuss their work. It had become clear after the second day that despite their separate departments, a good portion of what Dean had been hired to do would involve partnering with Benny, who would act as eyes and ears to Dean’s operation behind the scenes. They formed an easy rapport, Dean appreciating Benny’s calm demeanor and frankness in his answers when asked his opinion. The two had even gone out for after-work beers a couple of times, and Dean felt like he could, although hesitantly, call Benny a friend.

Much to his own surprise, Dean is actually starting to enjoy his job; there’s something to be said for having a set schedule and a routine, after years of neither. Sure, it may get a bit boring sometimes, but at least he has Charlie and Benny there, and even Chuck has grown on him a bit. Of course neither Charlie nor Chuck are overly pleased at the fact that Dean has taken to addressing them collectively as Chuckles, but it doesn’t seem to stop them from looking up when he says it, much to Dean’s amusement.

Today is Friday, and Dean’s in a good mood; not only are he and Chuckles and Benny going out for drunk trivia after work, but Dean actually got a hell of a lot accomplished at work during the week. In fact, he’s in such a good mood that he almost forgets to be irritated when he sees Blue Eyes again. Almost.

As has become habit, Dean is returning to his desk from his 4:15 pie and coffee run, pleased that he seems to have finally charmed the lunch ladies in the cafeteria into saving him a piece aside on Fridays. He bustles into the Nerd Cave, unaware for a second that anything is different in the room.

“Hey Chuckles! Guess who finally convinced Tammy to start saving the last piece of pie!” he says with a grin, when Charlie and Chuck collectively look up.

But then he realizes that they both seem to look mildly uncomfortable, and Charlie is giving him her best ‘shut your mouth’ face. It’s then that he glances around and realizes that there’s a fourth person in the room, sitting in Dean’s seat and typing away at his computer as if he owns the place. Dean looks between the other two nerds for some sort of explanation, but they both give him matching looks of ‘not now’. After a tense silence, Blue Eyes finally looks up, only to frown in disapproval at the pie container in Dean’s hand.

“What? Got a problem with pie?” Dean asks gruffly, stomping right over to his desk and setting his things down.

Charlie’s eyes go wide in alarm, and Chuck swivels around quickly, back to his own work. Neither of these are good signs.

“No, but there’s a policy forbidding food at workstations for a reason,” Blue Eyes says crisply, seemingly unaffected by Dean’s looming.

Dean lets out a chuckle at that and leans a hip against the side of his desk. “Let me guess. You’re one of those that yells at people for not using a coaster. And I bet you get all bent out of shape when someone double-dips their chips, too.”

By now, Charlie is covering her face, and Dean realizes that maybe his first question should have been to inquire as to why Blue Eyes was at his desk in the first place.

“As much as I’m enjoying hearing you ruminate upon my personality, I’m actually here on business, Winchester,” Blue Eyes says, with emphasis on the name.

Dean’s recognizes the glint in the other man’s eyes for what it is: victory. After all these years, they’ve never known each other’s names, and now Blue Eyes has his. As badly as Dean wants to know though, he isn’t dare going to let on that he doesn’t know the other man’s name; he’s in Security, and that can’t look good on him to not know that.

“Yeah, about that…how about you get your ass out of my seat, and then we’ll talk while I eat my pie,” Dean smirks, already moving to take his seat. Blue Eyes doesn’t budge, stubbornly refusing to move.

“Apologies, but I’m not quite done here yet, so if you’d like to sit, you should take the other chair,” Blue Eyes says with a gesture to the other side of the desk, looking smug as fuck.

“Excuse me?” Dean sputters. “Like hell! That’s my seat, and you’re the guest, asshole!”

“Guys!” Charlie snaps from her desk, unable to take another second. When both men look at her, she blushes a bit.

Both men mumble an apology, and Dean makes a show of frowning as he takes the guest seat, but doesn’t say anything. Blue Eyes goes back to what he was doing, clicking away at the keyboard and ignoring the way Dean’s eyes are trying to bore a hole into his forehead. After a couple of minutes, he sighs and turns to Dean.

“Crowley is pleased with the work you’ve done so far and would like to speak to you in person at 5:00,” Blue Eyes says, rising from the seat. “He’ll be expecting you in his office.”

“Why in the hell didn’t you lead with that? And furthermore, why am I being told this in person? That’s what email is for,” Dean frowns. “And what the hell were you doing on my computer?”

Blue Eyes then does something that catches Dean so off guard that he swears he can hear the gears grinding to a halt in his brain. The fucker actually smiles, full-on with teeth and all, and winks. And shit, the dude has a really nice smile. “Goodbye, Dean,” he says, and then exits the room.

Dean stares at the closed door, not even sure what just happened. He only gets a second though, before Charlie is on him.

“Dude! I can’t believe you just talked to Novak like that!” she says, eyes a little wild. But then they widen further. “Oh my god, you guys have totally done the frick frack haven’t you?”

“What? No!” Dean rushes to correct her. He’s never heard that term, but he gleans its meaning easily enough, and there is absolutely no way he’s going to let on to that hot and ultimately confusing Halloween.

Dean’s seen the name Novak pop up many times during the course of his work, usually in conjunction with company procedures and a few times with Crowley. He knew that this Novak person was someone important, but had never bothered putting a face with the name because nothing suspicious ever came up about him. At least Dean knows now, though.

“Really? Because that little conversation was bursting at the seams with history and dare I say…UST?” Charlie grinned coyly.

Sighing, Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, Charlie, there’s history there. But I don’t know what the hell UST is,” he says tiredly.

“Unresolved sexual tension,” Charlie rolls her eyes. “Now come on and spill it before you have to go up there,” she says, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Dean spends the next fifteen minutes giving her the rundown on the prickly history between him and Novak, carefully omitting the Halloween party. By the time he’s done, Charlie has a wry grin on her face.

“So you mean to tell me that you’ve been running into him off and on for twelve years across two different states and you didn’t even know his name until just now?” she asks, amused.

“That’s what you got from all that? All that bullshit, and you’re stuck on the fact that I never got the dickhead’s name?”

Charlie crosses her arms over her chest and leans back. “Well to be fair, it sounds like you’ve been just as much of a dickhead as he has, and I’m pretty sure that you started it, anyway. And yes, I’m hung up on that because how could you not find out?”

“It just never came up, alright? And okay, so I might have fucked up the guy’s computer, but it was an accident, and he wouldn’t even let me apologize for it! Not like I was trying to destroy his shit on purpose,” Dean grumbles. “I’m telling you Charlie, dude’s a spiteful bastard.”

“And that’s exactly why I’d tone it down on the Hatfield-McCoy thing you’ve got going,” Charlie says, eyebrows raised. “Dean, he’s Crowley’s right hand. If you want any hope of getting Sam into that fellowship, you’re going to have to get over this…whatever it is, between you and Novak.”

At the mention of Sam, it was like a bucket of cold water was dumped over Dean’s head. He had no clue whether Novak was affiliated with the fellowship program, but it definitely wouldn’t help to have him as an enemy. Charlie rested a comforting hand on his forearm and gave him a warm smile.

“You don’t have to like him or kiss ass or anything, just…calm it down a little, you know? Now you’d better get going…you’ve got five minutes to get up there.” 

Dean nodded and slung his suit jacket over his shoulders. “I’ll be back, assuming the dude didn’t just tell Crowley to fire me.”

“Good luck.”

“Crowley isn’t going to fire you,” Chuck pipes in confidently. “I think he has other plans for you.”

Dean has yet to meet Crowley, most employees at Rex never will, but Chuck’s little ‘prophecy’ makes him uneasy, and Charlie’s face reflects a similar notion.

“Well still, good luck anyway,” Charlie says, lips pulled tight as she pats Dean on the shoulder.

Dean just nods at her before walking out of the Nerd Cave, automatically going into soldier-mode as he makes his way down the hall. Some habits never leave, and Dean’s tendency to be wary in any environment will never go away.

 


	3. Let's Make a Deal

After a quick trip to the restroom, Dean makes his way up to the top floor, where Crowley’s office is located, arriving exactly on time. The receptionist buzzes him right in, and Dean is certain that he’s just entered some other dimension when he takes in the room. Unlike the rest of the building, which was all modern lines and strategically-placed windows and lighting, Crowley’s office looks like something Dean would have expected from Hugh Hefner. The room is decadent, from the Persian rugs on the floor, to the leather chairs and heavy mahogany desk. There’s even a chandelier- probably crystal- for god’s sake!

Dean barely resists rolling his eyes at the display and its complete lack of subtlety; Crowley either grew up poor and wants the good life, or is compensating for a tiny dick. A man stands at parade rest discreetly off to the side like a shadow, and Dean doesn’t recognize him as any of the personnel from Courtesy. It’s not surprising that someone as important as the CEO of the company that basically runs the media would want a personal guard, but it still makes Dean bristle that he and Benny don’t seem to be considered trustworthy enough to talk to about it.

“Ah, Dean Winchester. Just the man I wanted to see,” says the man behind the desk, voice smoky and thick with British accent. “Have a seat,” he gestures to one of the ridiculously high-backed chairs in front of the desk.

Dean does as he was bid, smoothing the front of his jacket as he sits down. Before he can say anything, he hears the door open behind him, but can’t see around the stupid chair to see who it is.

“Castiel, right on time,” Crowley purrs.

Moments later, Castiel comes into view and drops down into the seat next to Dean, only giving Dean a small nod of acknowledgement before turning to Crowley.

“Is my presence really necessary here, Crowley? I have things to do, and I fail to understand how I could be of use in a discussion on security,” Castiel says with that touch of impatience that Dean remembers from that first time they met.

Crowley narrows his eyes at Castiel, but doesn’t remark, earning an eyeroll from Castiel. Instead, Crowley motions to the guard, who seems to understand and leaves the three men alone in the room.

“Can’t be too careful now, can we?” Crowley asks once the door is closed. “Onto business, now. Dean. I’ve looked at what all you’ve done since you started here and must say that you’ve exceeded my expectations. Of course I’m aware that there wasn’t a whole lot to be done, as our boy Benny seemed to run a very tight ship, but your suggestions on protocol changes are rather clever.”

“But?” Dean asks boldly.

In peripheral, Dean sees Castiel sit forward slightly to get a better look at him, but doesn’t dare take his eyes off Crowley, who has quirked an eyebrow at him. There’s something about the man that makes Dean uneasy, and he knows that CEOs of major corporations don’t just go around giving performance reviews, and especially not after only three weeks.

“Beauty _and_ brains,” Crowley smirks. “Let’s get down to it then, shall we? While I’m impressed with what you’ve managed to do with your position here, your…talents, could be put to much better use, don’t you agree?”

“Depends on what talents you’re talking about,” Dean replied cautiously.

“Dean, I’ve done my research and know exactly what you’re capable of. This is why I’d like to offer you a new position. As I’m sure you know, Abaddon Corp. has thrown down the gauntlet, as you’d say. Novak here has been helping me work up a campaign strategy, along with public relations of course, to secure Rex Media’s place in America’s homes. This is going to require that I attend several meetings and make numerous public appearances. I’m trusting your discretion with this matter, as this has been a very hush-hush operation.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Dean asked, already tired of hearing the man’s voice.

“Frankly, I don’t trust that my personal security team has my best interest at heart, so I’d like you to take point in casing and securing the locations where I have to appear,” Crowley replied.

“Why me?” Dean asked.

“As I said, I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of,” Crowley said pointedly. “Both in strategy and brawn.”

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Not that he had any desire to shadow this douchebag all around the country, but it would feel good to get out and do something productive again.

“What’s in it for me?”

“How does a $20,000 pay raise for the duration of the campaign sound?” Crowley smirked.

It took an enormous effort not to let his eagerness to accept show on his face because yeah, Dean could definitely go for that kind of cash. Still though, if this is truly a negotiation, then Dean figures he may as well put in his own two cents.

“How long is this tour or whatever going to last?”

“It begins in May and will last until March of next year. However, your raise would take effect immediately,” Crowley says, leaning forward. “And whenever you aren’t working on this, you’d still be working your regular job until it’s time to roll out.”

Dean nods to himself. It’s March now, so this gives him a full two months to prepare if he takes the job. “Make it 30 grand and a place for my brother in the Cage Fellowship Program, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“What, that little upstart lawyers’ program?” Crowley asked, amused.

“That’s the one.”

Crowley hummed and adjusted his tie unnecessarily. “Tell you what, if the first four appearances go according to plan, I’ll make sure he gets in, top of the list.”

“Deal,” Dean says decisively, extending his hand. Crowley takes it and shakes with a smug grin.

“Excellent. You’ll begin work with Castiel first thing Monday morning, arranging the locations.”

“No,” Castiel says at the same time Dean says “What?”

Crowley looks between them. “Is there a problem boys?”

Castiel doesn’t even bother looking at Dean when he says, “Dammit Crowley, I’m a strategist, not a PR goon.”

Dean tries to hold back the snort, he really does, but it slips out and Crowley meets his eye with an amused glint that makes Dean feel a little better. Castiel looks darkly at the both of them, irritated that he seems to be the butt of some joke.

“It’s not up for debate, McCoy, and I don’t have time to provide couples therapy for whatever it is you two seem to have brewing between each other. Speaking of, you’re both dismissed. I have a massage with a happy ending waiting on me,” Crowley says, standing up coming around the desk.

Castiel scowls at Crowley and stomps out of the office, Dean hot on his heels.

“Hang on a second!” Dean barks.

Castiel doesn’t stop walking, but does slow down a bit so Dean can catch up. “What do you want? You heard Crowley, we’ll start on Monday.”

“Jesus, just stop for a second,” Dean says, grabbing Castiel’s shoulder. When the man glares at the hand on his shoulder and then at Dean’s face, Dean lets go promptly. “Look, can we just call a truce for a minute or something? I mean, we’ve got shit to do and this,” he gestured between them, “ain’t helpin’.”

Castiel’s eyebrows pull together as he just looks at Dean for a good ten seconds. As unnerving as it is, Dean refuses to look away. Finally, Castiel seems to come to some decision gives a slight nod.

“My office, nine o’clock. Don’t be late,” he says gruffly.

Figuring it’s as good as he’s going to get, Dean sighs. “See you then.”

The men parts ways at that, each glad that at least it’s Friday and they have the whole weekend to prepare for the beginning of what will surely be a stressful year.

 ***

 

Castiel sighs and takes another sip of wine, glad to be home and in the comfort of his own home. From the other end of the couch, Gabriel’s foot comes up to nudge Castiel in the thigh.

“Come on, bro, quit being so dramatic. That’s like the fifth time you’ve sighed in ten minutes,” Gabriel points out.

Castiel scoffs and takes another sip of wine. “Not being dramatic, just lamenting the loss of the next year of my life.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Jesus Cassie, you make it sound like you got knocked up. I mean, are you seriously still holding a grudge against the guy for something that happened over a decade ago?”

“I almost didn’t graduate on time because of that assbutt!”

“True, but you didn’t exactly let him apologize either, did you?” Gabriel says tiredly.

Castiel frowns. “He vomited on me,” argues instead.

“And I’m sure he stalked you all the way to California and timed it out perfectly just so he could toss his cookies on you,” Gabriel says dryly.

Neither man brings up the Balthazar incident, but Gabriel does give Castiel another nudge to his leg in acknowledgement.

“I think I’m going to turn in early. Night, Gabe,” Castiel says, handing his unfinished wine off to his brother.

Gabriel frowns, but doesn’t argue. “Alright. Night Cassie.”

Castiel strips down to his boxers and climbs under the covers, knowing good and damned well that he isn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon. Not to say that he isn’t exhausted; Crowley’s little campaign has been the bane of his existence since the New Year, causing many a 12-hour day and hastily eaten fast food meal. With this thought, his hand slips to his stomach, and Castiel sighs as he notes a small pocket of flab below his navel that’s never been there before in his life. Between the poor diet and no time or energy to run, his health is starting to decline and he can feel it in the texture of his skin and the tiredness he never used to feel before. Or maybe that’s just because he’s 33 now, and things aren’t as easy as they were at 23.

Still though, it doesn’t change the fact that he just wants his old job back. He’d contracted out as a corporate strategist with Rex Media a couple of years ago to instigate an overhaul. At the time he’d headed a team and delegated tasks with brutal efficiency; that was his job though, to be efficient and make companies likewise. When Crowley offered him a standing position at Rex to maintain the efficiency, Castiel had accepted easily; it was nice, the thought of getting to follow through on a project, rather than just leave everyone to it once he’d made his suggestions. Now though, he’s going to be stuck working with that brute for the next year, and Castiel wonders for the first time if he should’ve just continued on as a private contractor with no one to answer to but himself.

And Castiel knew that it wasn’t the other man’s fault that Balthazar was a cheating asshole; the green-eyed man had seemed as surprised by the development as Castiel was. However, it didn’t change the fact that Castiel had wondered at the time why he hadn’t been enough, and what Freckles had that he didn’t. Sure, the man was attractive…okay, maybe that’s an understatement…but Castiel was fairly confident in his own appearance, and he had his own positive attributes.

Castiel also knows, though he’s loath to admit it, that he’d been out of line that day, shouting obscenities in a grocery store parking lot to a man that didn’t deserve it. Yet even with this knowledge, he’d still chosen to poke at Dean today. Of course he had no good reason to be using Dean’s computer, but Castiel had suspected it would bother the other man and couldn’t seem to resist. But why? Castiel prides himself on his self-control, but something about Winchester has driven him crazy from the beginning and the man always manages to bring out the very worst in him.

Something is going to have to give, and Castiel actually groans out loud into the darkened room as he realizes that it probably going to have to be himself.

 ***

“Oh! Uh-uh-uh…” Charlie says, snapping her fingers as she tries for the answer on the tip of her tongue. “Ursa Major!” she exclaims, elbowing Dean. Dean dutifully types in the answer on the little touchscreen their group has been given and they all look up to the big screen behind the bar to watch their answer flash green, indicating that it was correct. Charlie leans back in her seat with a smug look while Dean whoops and Benny just grins. Chuck is preoccupied with some enthusiastic little blonde, looking torn between being flattered at her attention and wishing she’d go away.

It’s decidedly less sexy than what Dean would normally be doing at a bar on a Friday night, but he’s having fun with people he considers friends and wouldn’t trade it.

“So you’re really stuck working with Novak, huh?” Charlie asks him, swiping her bangs out of her face for the hundredth time that night. The short haircut looks surprisingly good on her, but it’s clear that she wasn’t prepared for the irritation that longer bangs can cause.

“Yeah, I am,” Dean says, sighing as he fiddles with a beer coaster.

Charlie narrows her eyes on him as she takes an unusually long sip of her cocktail through her straw. “Maybe you two should just fuck it out,” she finally says.

Benny sputters and coughs around the drink he’d just taken, while Dean yelps her name in a rather undignified manner.

“What? Just because I don’t dig the dudes doesn’t mean I can’t identify a hottie when I see one,” she shrugs.

“That’s not…why would you even suggest that?”

Charlie just looks at him as if he’s particularly stupid. “Please. The tension was ridiculous.”

“That was not UST. That was just a good old fashioned desire to kick each other in the nads,” Dean says flatly.

“He fucking winked at you!” Charlie says dramatically.

“And he was being a sarcastic asshole.” Dean then turns to Chuck and taps him on the arm. “Come on man, help me out here.”

“I- well. I don’t believe I’m the best person to ask. I think you were both kind of being jerks,” Chuck says uselessly.

Dean looks to Benny, whose eyes are twinkling with amusement, but he only holds his hands up. “I’ve never seen the two of you interact.”

Dean frowns into his beer. “It’s not UST,” he mutters as he lifts it to his lips.

“And Watson didn’t grow a mournstache,” Charlie says with a roll of her eyes.

Choosing not to dignify that with a response, Dean finishes off the rest of his beer and glances to Benny, who simply nods. Dean pulls out his wallet and lays down enough for both his and Benny’s tabs, having worked out an understanding that whoever DD’ed when they went out got their food and drinks covered by the other for the night.

“Well, it’s been fun ladies, but I think we’re gonna head out,” Dean says as he puts his jacket on.

“Did I piss you off?” Charlie frowns.

“Nah. I’m just tired, man. Well, and I’m driving up to Stanford to see Sam in the morning.”

“Alright,” Charlie says skeptically. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at some point on Monday?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Okay, then. Be safe!” Charlie says, holding an expectant arm out for a hug. Dean obliges her and gives her a little peck on the temple to reassure her he isn’t mad. She seems to relax at the gesture, so Dean figures she got the message.

Blessedly, Benny seems to show no inclination toward discussing Charlie’s proclamations on the way to Dean’s apartment, content instead to just whistle along to some bluegrass song playing on the radio. It’s surprisingly relaxing, and Dean zones out, surprised when they pull up to his apartment.

Dean must be more inebriated than he thought, because he doesn’t realize he’d been thinking the question until it’s coming out of his mouth. “Hey Benny. Can you do the Mockingjay whistle?”

Benny’s face screws up in confusion. “What the hell are you on about?”

“You know, the…” Dean stops talking to make an approximation of the little tune. When Benny’s face doesn’t change, Dean huffs. “The Hunger Games? Dude, even if you didn’t see the movie, the whistle thing was all over the TV in the ads for it.”

“You talkin’ bout that movie with the kids all runnin’ round the woods killin’ each other?” Benny asks, a touch of amusement in his voice.

“Never mind,” Dean says, acutely aware of what a dork he is as he opens the door. But then Benny lets off an eerie imitation of the sound that sends goosebumps up Dean’s forearms and he whips his head over to look at the burly man in the driver’s seat.

Benny chuckles at Dean’s reaction and readjusts his hat. “Yeah, I seen it, Dean, but don’t you tell nobody.”

Dean can’t help but grin at finally discovering something a little dorky about always-cool Benny Lafitte. “You know somethin’? I bet we’d win it. Kick all kinds of ass in the arena,” Dean grins.

“Go to bed, Dean,” Benny grins with a gentle shove at Dean’s shoulder. “Though your drunk-ass is probably right,” he mutters in acquiesce.

“Ha!”

Benny snorts, but makes a little shooing motion at Dean, and Dean knows his friend is right; it’s definitely time to go to bed.

It seems to be a good thing that Dean overslept and didn’t get there until almost noon, because when Sam answers the door, his face is still creased from his pillow and he’s shirtless and in pajama pants. He opens his mouth to say something, but a tremendous yawn takes over, instead.

“Sorry,” Sam finally says, stepping aside to allow Dean to enter. “Looks like you overslept too, though.”

Dean steps inside and is immediately aware of the noticeable lack of Dude Smell. In fact, it smells suspiciously pleasant, and he turns quickly to look at Sam, who doesn’t seem to notice that Dean is having a moment. In fact, he’s simply shuffled off toward the kitchen, assuming that Dean would follow. It was a good assumption.

When Dean walks into the kitchen, he’s unsurprised to see Jess, standing on tiptoe to deliver a ‘good morning’ peck to Sam’s lips.

“Oh. Hey, Dean,” Jess says warmly, swooping in for a hug. “Glad to see you made it in.”

Dean returns the gesture and looks over her shoulder to Sam, who just shrugs and grins. It only takes those few seconds for Dean to glance around the kitchen and see Jess written all over it, from the matching potholders and dishcloths, to the coordinated rug in front of the sink. There’s even a bread machine on one end of the countertop, and Dean knows that there’s no way in hell that Sam would ever attempt to use such a thing. When Jess pulls back from the hug, she grins up at him and pats his cheek fondly.

“Alright, well, not that I’m not glad to see you, but this is my first full day off in over a week and I have a buttload of sleep to catch up on, so I’m going back to sleep,” Jess says, turning to go back to the bedroom.

As soon as the door is shut behind her, Dean snaps his gaze over to Sam, whose eyes are full of contentment and adoration that Dean has never seen quite so intensely on his brother before. He must realize he has the look when he makes eye contact with Dean, because the look immediately turns sheepish.

"She's only lived here for three days and spent most of it at work," Sam explains, knowing that Dean's probably irritated at having been kept out of the loop.

"You don’t have to explain, Sammy. You're a grown man and I don’t expect you to ask permission or something to have Jess move in. I mean hell, you've been together for what…almost five years now? I'm surprised you only just did it now," Dean says with a small grin. He's actually a little surprised that he honestly means every word.

Sam gives him a tight-lipped smile and mutters a 'thanks', before taking a sip of the coffee that Jess had apparently poured up for him. They stand there a little awkwardly, the fact that they each are living their own lives really sinking in, before Sam gives a little cough and clears his throat.

"I'm gonna ask her to marry me tonight," Sam whispers over his cup, trying to hide his smile.

Dean's heart does an impossible flop, caught between soaring in happiness for his brother, and sinking down to his toes as he realizes just how grown up Sam really is. Before his thoughts can digress too deeply into self-pity at not being needed anymore, Dean clings to the first feeling and dredges up a genuine smile for his brother. Sam must know what's coming because at Dean's smile, he sets his mug down on the counter.

"Congrats, man! It's about time," Dean says, leaning in for a hug that's more of a friendly beating of shoulder blades between them than what normal people would call a hug. It's the Winchester Men's way, though.

"Thanks," Sam beams as he pulls back. "I'm gonna take her out tonight and do it right…I've had it planned for like a month."

"You know she's gonna say yes, dude. I'll get a hotel room tonight so you two can come back and," Dean makes a lewd gesture with his hips. At Sam's 'You're a gross teenager, Dean' bitchface, Dean chuckles a little. "Oh come on, it's engagement sex, the most sure-fire form of coupling."

"Actually, I have a hotel suite booked for us tonight and wrangled an extra day off for her at the hospital tomorrow, so you've got the house to yourself tonight," Sam answers smugly.

Even though it makes sense that Sam would do that, it still kind of feels like a kick in the shin for Dean to be stood up after making the trip up there to visit with his brother. Dean's perfectly aware that Sam wanted him there in case Jess says no and of course Dean would want to be supportive, but it's still a pretty dick move.

"But anyway, the plan is head out at about six tonight, and I'm taking her on a little casual tour of all the important places around town where we had a bunch of our firsts. Then around seven, we're heading over to that little café for dinner, where we had our first date, if you wanna just meet up with us then," Sam said in an excited whisper. "I'm going to ask her before we get to the restaurant, so she doesn't feel all pressured with a crowd."

Dean blinked, a swell of affection for his little brother constricting his throat. "You're a total fucking sap, you know that?" he asks, not trusting anything nicer than that that could come out of his mouth.

Sam looks unimpressed and takes a loud slurp of coffee from his reclaimed mug, but doesn't respond otherwise. The stare-off goes on for a good ten seconds before they both rolls their eyes at each other.

"So…Xbox?" Sam finally relents.

"Yusss," Dean says decisively, glad to step away from the feelsy stuff and blow some shit up.

***

Dean rolls in to the café at 7:15 and immediately feels a smile spread across his face when he glances to see Sam and Jess sitting together at a table in the back, even though it's also sweet enough to give him diabetes. When he gets to the table, the lovebirds look up at him with identical excited-puppy-faces and Dean kind of wants to slink right back out of the place. He got his confirmation, and now it feels intrusive to be third-wheeling with a freshly engaged couple that by all rights should already be heading for the nearest bed or some other couple-y shit instead of hanging out in a restaurant with Dean. But then Jess stands up and pulls Dean into a hug and makes to whisper in his ear, and he immediately feels bad for wanting to bail on them. Jess is probably about to say some girly stuff about family, and she knows that that's a soft spot for him.

"Be nice to your brother tomorrow, because every muscle in his body is going to be sore by the time I'm done with him tonight," she says, and then lets out a rather unfeminine 'hur-hur' kind of chuckle when Dean gasps as he pulls back.

"Christ, Jess!" Dean breathes, laughter spilling out involuntarily. Then he turns to Sam, who's looking between them like a curious puppy. "Sammy, you couldn't have picked a better woman to give your testicles to. But we all knew that already," he says with a wink at Jess.

Dean's always liked her and her strange ability to look so angelic and then say some of the most unholy things with a sweet smile on her face. Tension eased, the three spend their dinner in cheerful conversation, and Dean intermittently making gagging noises when the happy couple starts making googly eyes at each other.

Eventually, Sam and Jess take off for their night alone and Dean considers heading to a bar to fill his time. After finally being able to feel genuine happiness for Sam and Jess though, the thought of going out alone and hooking up with some stranger is sort of depressing. Instead, he heads back to Sam and Jess' place and settles in for a night of drunken Netflix, passing out at around two in the morning.

The nightmares don't happen all the time and it's been a good two weeks since the last one, so Dean had fallen into a false sense of security in thinking that he wasn't due. Oh, how wrong he'd been, though. This one wasn't quite as brutal as some of the others, but that was mostly due to the fact that the booze had addled his brain enough that the scenes flicking behind his eyelids were too disorganized to make sense of before flipping to a new one. Still though, the one thing that was always present and never distorted no matter how intoxicated his slumber, was the sound. Always with the gunfire and wails of the injured and explosions from far too close. The ground was shaking beneath his feet as a bomb went off from right next to him that seemed to curve around his body like a river around a boulder, but obliterate everything else within his sight. No matter how widely he opened his mouth and how much air he drew, every time he tried to shout, his voice locked up in his throat and he stood paralyzed like an insect trapped in amber.

But then it was as if someone smashed the amber with a hammer, and he was suddenly released, hitting the ground with a harsh thud that nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. Then he was paralyzed again. He slowly became aware of his name being called and wept for the soldiers he couldn't get up to save, throat burning with each shouted, 'You're okay! It's gonna be okay!'. Wait. His voice was working. Then he was able to pick out Sam's voice in the mix and wept harder; Sam wasn't supposed to be here.

"Dean! Wake up!"

Before he could process the nonsense of that statement, a harsh slap to the face yanked him roughly back into reality. He was sprawled on the floor next to the couch at Sam's house, Sam looming over him as he pinned Dean's limbs to the floor. Jess was kneeling next to his head, thumbing away tears and gently stroking his hair with a guilty look on her face. It took him a moment to understand what was going on, and when he did, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wasn't meant to be seen like this, and kind, gentle Jess shouldn't have had to slap him across the face.

Jess leans in place a tender kiss to his forehead and squeezes at his bicep before she rises to give the brothers some privacy. Sam crawls off of him and leans back to sit on his heels, looking sadly down at his brother before looking off to the side and sighing.

"You still haven't been to a therapist, have you?" Sam asks, voice colder than Dean had expected.

"Don’t start this shit," Dean sighs tiredly. "What time is it?"

"Almost 11. And I am starting this shit. It's going to destroy you if you don't get some help," Sam pleads, coldness gone.

"It's not that bad," Dean grumbles, pulling himself upright and wincing at the unexpected soreness in his ribs.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Sam nearly shouts, running a rough hand through his hair as he stands up. "Dean, you flailed yourself off the couch and didn't even wake up! And nevermind the SW-"

"Low blow, Sam," Dean cuts him off, a warning growl in his voice. He sure as hell doesn't need that S.W.A.T. shit dragged up right now.

Sam's eyebrows are pinched so tightly they're threatening to become a single eyebrow as they glare at each other, Dean with his arms folded over his chest and Sam clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. The stare-off continues until Dean finally has to blink and reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He knows he's fresh out of excuses; he's making good money and has kickass insurance and a steady work schedule.

"Just…think about it. Make some calls, go online and visit a few forums and find out which docs are the most recommended. For once in your life will you please just have an ounce of self-preservation?" Sam asks, voice calm but serious.

Dean rubs both hands over his face and groans his frustration. "Fine. I'll check into it," he finally relents. It's as much of a promise as he's willing to make, and Sam will just have to take what he can get.

Surprisingly, it seems to appease the moose somewhat, and he nods with a sigh. "Okay. Good. That's all I'm asking."

"Good, 'cause it's all you're getting, asshat," Dean says, the barest hint of brotherly teasing in his tone.

Oddly, Sam seems to relax at that. "Come on, jerk. I want to get some brunch before you burn rubber out of here and pretend you have important things to do," he says knowingly.

Dean gives his brother a wry look, but doesn't comment because what can he say to that? It's completely true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it seems like there's potential for an angst-fest here, but I swear it isn't headed that way. Just hang in there, I promise things are about to get more...entertaining.


	4. Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pi Day, y'all. Enjoy this accidentally relevant chapter.

Had there been witnesses, Castiel is fairly certain that the amount of time he spent on Sunday psyching himself up to deal with Winchester would've been embarrassing. It's not that Winchester makes him nervous or that he even really hates him; but the fact that they've had yet to hold a civilized conversation is a bit worrying, considering that they are going to be working together for the next two months. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that work projects go a hell of a lot more smoothly when the parties involved don't waste their time bickering.

Contrary to what Winchester might believe, and rightfully so, according to what he'd witnessed over the years, Castiel is actually a very rational person. Who just happens to have let the worst of himself out in the other man's presence. And rationally, what he needs to do now is try and tuck away their…whatever it is…so they can get this project over with. Castiel resolved that come Monday morning, he would do his damnedest to be as neutral as possible and maybe even wear the light blue button-down; people seem less likely to scurry away from him when he wears it for some reason. Perhaps it makes him look less threatening.

And that's the other thing. Not that he relishes it necessarily, but over time, Castiel has gotten used to the fact that most of the employees at Rex hold some sort of respect for him, if not his position. While most avoid him out of some irrational fear that he would rain paperwork and write-ups upon them, some insist on making nervous conversation with him and smiling too much. Only a very few have attempted actual friendly conversation, but the moment they found out who he was, seemed to shy away and lapse into Nervous Conversation Mode the next time they saw him.

Not Dean Winchester, though. Castiel suspects that either Dean had no clue who he was talking to, or has authority issues to rival Castiel's own. In a way, it's refreshing to be treated like a human being and not just some ruthless symbol of the corporation, but it's also frustrating that it happens to be the kind of treatment that makes Castiel want to rip his hair out.

And now it's Monday morning, just minutes until Winchester is supposed to show up, and Castiel is calm, cool, and collected. It helps that he's on his own turf, stomach full with an actual healthy breakfast for once, and reasonably well rested. All of the emails and documents they should need are pulled up or printed out, and Castiel is ready to get to it. At precisely 9:00, a sharp rap of knuckles on his office door announces Winchester's arrival.

Castiel had every intention of opening with a 'good morning', when the other man walked in, he really did. Instead though, what comes out of his mouth is, "You look like hell."

Castiel grimaces at his own bluntness when he notices the other man's weary posture.

"Thanks. I was totally unaware of that fact," Dean says sarcastically, dropping into the guest seat on the other side of Castiel's desk. He sighs heavily and rubs the heels of his palms against his eyes.

The lack of a following insult toward Castiel is, ludicrously, somewhat concerning.

"Apologies. That was inappropriate. Are you feeling unwell?" Castiel asks.

Dean huffs a humorless laugh at that.

"Come on man, I know you don't give a shit, so can we just skip the small talk and do our jobs?" Dean asks tiredly.

"Don't presume for one instant to understand me or my motivations, Winchester," Castiel says darkly. He really had been concerned, but if Dean was going to be like that, then fine. "If you aren't feeling well, we won't be able to be as productive, and there is much to be done."

Winchester positively glares at him and sits up straighter in his seat.

"And you shouldn't _presume_ that I can't do my damned job just because I don't look fresh enough for your taste. I've done a lot more with a lot less," the green-eyed man says, somewhat vaguely.

Castiel looks at him for a moment, trying to parse what that last bit means. It occurs to him briefly that perhaps he should have done a bit of research on Dean's background so as to have some context on his new working partner besides personal experience.

"You know that killing someone with your mind isn't actually possible, right?" Dean smirks, but then it falters a bit. "You were staring," he says slowly, in answer to the confusion that must have made itself known on Castiel's face.

Castiel glances to his computer screen and back at Dean. "Though you irritate me, I don't wish to kill you, Winchester," he says honestly. "Now, let's focus on our work, shall we?"

At this, Dean leans back in his seat eyeing Castiel speculatively. Surprisingly, it makes Castiel feel a bit vulnerable, as if being watched by a predatory creature. Whatever Dean was searching for, Castiel doesn't have the slightest clue, but he's under the distinct impression that Dean just came to some sort of conclusion about him. It's frustrating, not being able to defend or confirm whatever just went through Dean's mind, but Castiel doesn't dare let on and instead looks right back at Dean with as much poker face as he can manage.

"Fine," Dean eventually says, and leans forward. "Let's get to work, then. Show me everything you have on the first stop Crowley has planned."

Opting to make a face instead of comment on Winchester's lack of the common courtesy of a 'please', Castiel taps an indicative finger on the folder on top of the stack he has prepared for each location while his other hand mouses around the screen to pull up the relevant emails.

Dean looks through the couple of pages in the folder with a frown and then comes around to Castiel's side of the desk to look at the email, frowning even more deeply as he looks at the screen.

"What?" Castiel asks curiously.

Dean scrubs a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh.

"I'm going to need a hell of a lot more information than this," he says.

"Like what? I included every venue's safety record over the last ten years, the name of each location's security company, and a complete list of staff," Castiel replies, ruffled at the implication that he's been incompetent in his side of the work.

"Yes, but that's not what I need. I need the most up to date blueprints of each location, the details of what type of security systems they already have in use, the names of the limousine services that Crowley will use at each stop, the names and background on each driver, the route that will be taken between…uh, you should probably be writing this down," Dean said, pausing his steps where he'd begun pacing as he spoke.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not your secretary, Mr. Winchester," Castiel said flatly, patience starting to slip when he realized that Dean wasn't just talking his thoughts out.

"No, but the last I heard, we were supposed to be working on this together. So why don't you get the information so I can do my part of the job?" Dean asks.

"Because I don't serve you," Castiel says lowly, through his teeth.

Dean eyes him again for a moment before nodding to himself and reaching for the stack of folders. "Alright then," he says, before shifting the folders to the crook of his arm. And without another word, heads toward the door.

"Wait," Castiel says, when he realizes that Dean isn't going to say anything else. They accomplished practically nothing, and there's still a lot that needs to be communicated because no doubt, Crowley will ask him for a progress report.

Dean turns around, eyes stony. "You'd do well to remember that I don't serve you either, Novak," he says, and then slips out the door.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Castiel leans forward and rests his forehead on his desk with a thump. He has the sense that Dean has a plan of some sort and it makes Castiel uneasy not having all of the information. It's not that he expected for this to go smoothly, but he had at least hoped that they'd be able to find some sort of middle ground. Apparently that was just not in the stars today.

***

Dean stomped all the way to the Nerd Cave, internally cursing Crowley for trying to make him work with Novak. So the bastard wanted to be able to sit back and take the credit for all the work on this? Fine, let him try. Dean has all the basic information that he needs to get his work started. He'll just do his damn job and let Novak try and figure out what to tell Crowley about the project when asked. Dean almost cackles at the thought of the asshat having to report that he doesn't know anything about what's going on.

When he busts into the Nerd Cave a minute later, Charlie looks up, confusion written all over her face. She looks like she wants to say something, but Dean's face must look murderous because she simply clears her throat and goes back to her work. Chuck doesn't even seem to notice Dean's arrival. Dean angrily flips open the first file, ready to set to task and groans when he realizes that he'd stomped out of Novak's office without getting the emails.

At this, Charlie looks over tentatively, and seeing that Dean now just looks defeated, turns fully around in her seat. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really. But uh…I might need you to hack Novak's email," Dean says on a sigh.

Charlie gives him a disapproving face. "I know he pisses you off, but I don't think messing with his email is the way to go."

"It's nothing like that," Dean says, shaking his head. "I kind of maybe got pissed and left before I got some emails forwarded to me that I need."

Charlie gives him an unimpressed look for a moment before it melts into a smirk, and then straight into laughter.

"What?" Dean snaps.

Charlie's light chuckle turns into an unattractive grunt-snort of laughter.

"Oh my god, Dean. Sorry," she breaks off with a wheeze. "I was just…hehe…I was just imagining you making a dramatic exit all Dracula-style with the cape pulled up and everything and then getting it stuck in the door on the way out."

Dean tries to glare, but it's really hard to be too upset with Charlie, even when she's actively poking fun. "You're so weird," he says instead. "Is that really the kind of shit that goes through your head? Visual metaphors?"

Charlie wipes a tear from her eye and takes a ragged breath, calming herself. "Oh please. You love my weirdness, don't even try to deny it."

Dean can't help but smile a little at his friend because now that he's had a minute to calm down, maybe…maybe it is a little funny. Or at least, he can see why it'd be funny from Charlie's perspective.

"Okay, okay, enough. Dean is a huge dork and it's hilarious. Now, are you gonna help me recover my dignity or not?"

Sobering a bit, Charlie wheels her seat over to sit next to Dean. "If I do this, my name isn't going to be associated with it, you understand? Novak kind of scares the bejesus out of me, sorry."

That's understandable. "Then why don't you show me how to do it myself?"

"That's the plan," she says, cocking a finger gun at him and clicking her tongue.

Dean rolls his eyes, but listens and watches intently as Charlie takes him through the steps. It's disturbingly easy to scoot past the security measures and get into another employee's email. Dean moves quickly, smirking at how easy it is to locate the precise emails he needs because Novak is a total organization freak with his email. After showing him how to cover his tracks, Charlie leans back in her seat and gives a little sigh of satisfaction. Then she notices Dean looking at her and sits back up.

"What? I haven't gotten to do anything like that in a while…kinda miss it, even if it was pretty tame," she says with a little shrug, before rolling back to her own desk.

Dean quirks a smile at his friend before turning back to his screen to start his project. That's right, Dean's project, not the Winchester-Novak project. With the kind of determination that can only stem from setting out to prove oneself, Dean focuses for the rest of the day on obtaining the information he needs, not overly concerned about whether some of his methods are totally kosher. After all, it's not like Crowley is one for playing fair, and Dean highly doubts that the little toad would care how the job gets done, as long as none of it comes back to him.

By the time four o'clock rolls around, Dean's gotten a fair amount done and is feeling confident. He's pretty sure that he wouldn't have gotten as much done having to share the duty with Novak anyway, so it's just as well that the man doesn't want to work with him. Dean takes the stairs for his pie run, though he's cautious these days about opening the first floor door at the bottom. He's practically whistling once he's got his treat in hand and starts for the stairs.

"Dean?" comes a woman's voice from behind him, halting his stride.

Dean doesn't know who he's expecting when he turns around, but the little blond that had been talking to Chuck from trivia night is not it, and he briefly feels bad for not realizing that she even worked there.

"Oh. Hi, uh…"

"Becky," she says, seemingly unconcerned about the fact that he had no clue about her identity. Then she swoops into his personal space and grabs him by the elbow and leads him toward the elevator bank, speaking as they walk. "So, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?" she asks, pushing the 'up' button.

"Depends. What are you needing?"

Becky positively beams. "Well, I was hoping that maybe you'd know if Chuck's single?"

"I don't have a clue. My best guess would be yes, though," he says, stepping into the elevator when the doors open.

Becky steps in with him and pushes the button for the fifth floor and Dean frowns as he realizes that she must work human resources. How had he not seen her before? Dean glances down to her badge and sees that she has the little colored dot in the corner that indicates a new hire that's still in their probationary period and relaxes a bit.

"Awesome!" she chirps, clasping her hands together excitedly.

Before the doors can shut all the way, a hand snakes between them and none other than Novak lets himself in at the last second. He doesn't seem to notice Dean immediately, as he reaches to press the button for the eighth floor, where his office is located. Becky stiffens at Dean's side, so he takes it as indication that even the fresh meat know about Novak and his asshole tendencies.

Novak turns and gives Becky a polite smile before his eyes land on Dean and then those eyes shift into looking mildly uncomfortable. Despite the tense silence that's fallen over the small space, Dean can't hold back the victorious smirk at knowing that he's managed to make the dickface feel weird around him. Becky looks somewhat discreetly between them but doesn't say anything.

"How's the info search going?" Novak finally asks.

Dean considers for a moment whether he should even answer, and decides on a better response, letting his smirk stretch into a full-on grin and winks at Novak just in time for the elevator to ding and the doors open to the fifth floor. Novak looks utterly unamused at having his own tactic thrown right back in his face and Dean can't resist chuckling at him as he and Becky exit the elevator.

Once the doors close behind them, Becky gapes at him, but Dean has no desire to hear how dumb that must have been to taunt Crowley's right hand and quickly takes off toward his own end of their floor. He's still grinning when he gets back to his desk because regardless of the rocky start, he has pie and coffee, has made progress on his work, and even got to ruffle Novak while he was at it. He's in such a good mood that he even decides to give Chuck a head's up on the Becky situation.

Chuck sighs and nods in what looks like defeat, which is not the response Dean was expecting. Becky doesn't seem completely terrible, and Chuck isn't exactly the picture of outgoing, but Dean supposes it's none of his business and gets back to work.

***

The next few days progress in much the same manner, Dean working steadily and going home feeling accomplished. It feels good to have a purpose, and Dean relishes having something to work on besides the regular security stuff for the building, though he does dedicate a couple of hours a day to his normal job. On Thursday though, he receives an email from Novak asking Dean to come by his office when he has a chance. Dean lets out an audible 'pffft' sound and deletes it, knowing exactly how immature he's being but unable to find the fucks to give.

After checking through the rest of his emails, Dean lets out a deep sigh through his nose and goes back to his work, trying his damnedest to ignore the niggling at the back of his mind. Logically, he knows that he can't go on avoiding Novak forever, but he just can't muster the energy to deal with it right now. What he could do though, is do a little research on one Castiel Novak. Dean cracks his knuckles and pulls up a search engine.

It only takes half an hour's worth of searching for Dean to determine a few things: Castiel Novak, born James Castiel Novak, has never broken the law (or been caught, at least), graduated top of his class, moved around a lot as a kid, and only seems to have one living relative, Richard Gabriel Novak. Judging by the thirteen year age gap, it's difficult to tell whether this Richard is Castiel's uncle or brother, but Dean is betting on brother. Curiosity gets the better of him, so Dean decides to dig around on the relative as well.

There isn't much more information on the older Novak, but what Dean does find makes him crow with surprised laughter.

"Charlie! Dude, check it out who Novak's brother is!"

Charlie obediently scoots her seat over and peers at Dean's screen for a moment before her own eyes widen a bit. "No way!"

On the screen is a short article about the legendary "Porn King," Gabriel Novak, who owns the third most successful porn site on the internet. The article tells the story of how the man started the site as a way to help pay for his little brother's schooling years ago, and that according to sources, Gabriel Novak has yet to make a public appearance on behalf of his company, even for interviews. This has led to wide speculation about the owner and his company, with theories ranging from the man being horribly disfigured, to secretly being one of the regular performers on the site, and one theory even questioning his existence at all. Dean has absolutely no doubt though, that Gabriel Novak is very real and most definitely Castiel's brother.

"Well I'll be damned," Dean finally says after they've both read the entire article. "I can't believe that the Porn King is not only real, but he's Novak's freakin' brother! Seriously, the man is like a modern urban legend!"

Charlie shakes her head with a grin. "I still think he's secretly one of the performers," she said, looking around as if anyone besides Chuck would hear her theory.

"Nah. If he won't even reveal himself for an interview, there's no way he'd risk performing. This is a guy that doesn't want to be found, for whatever reason," Dean muses.

"Maybe," she says with a little shrug.

Dean hums his acknowledgement and they both go back to their work. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that as boring as James Castiel Novak may look on paper, there may be a lot more to him than meets the eye. If his brother really did start the site to pay for Castiel's tuition, then that means that their parents have likely been dead for a long time, and that Gabriel was taking care of Castiel. So where were the obits on their parents? It was odd, but more than that, Dean feels a little twinge for the Novaks because what wouldn't Dean have done to take care of Sam, if their parents were gone? Hell, how many asses had Dean beaten during their school years for his younger brother? More than he cared to think about, that's for damn sure.

***

Castiel spent a good portion of Thursday and all of today frustrated. Judging by the wider-than-usual berth that the other employees seem to give him, it must be fairly obvious on his face and in the lines of his body. He had sent an email yesterday and called Winchester's desk phone twice today, and it was obvious now, that the man was avoiding him. Remembering that Winchester had mentioned getting afternoon pie, Castiel looked at the clock; it was just after four.

Good. Maybe he could catch the man during his pie run. Decision made, Castiel makes his way down to the cafeteria and on a whim, steps up to the dessert station. For the first time, Castiel is going to use his recognition for personal use, but only feels a sliver of guilt as he approaches the lady behind the counter. He glances down to her nametag and is relieved to see that it says Tammy, which is the name that Winchester had brought up last week. Summoning his most charming smile, Castiel leans against the counter. He may not use his charm often, but Castiel does know how to bring it out when necessary.

"Hello, Tammy," he drawls. "I was wondering if you'd happen to have some pie left back there for me?" Castiel even throws in a subtle batting of eyelashes.

Tammy blushes and offers a tentative smile, but glances away briefly. "Sorry Mr. Novak, but we're fresh out."

Castiel lets out a disappointed sigh. "Alright then," he says with a sad shake of his head, pulling out his phone and pretending to text. "Dean's going to be disappointed," he mutters to himself before turning back to Tammy. "Thanks, anyway."

He starts to turn away, when Tammy speaks again. Castiel only smiles briefly before turning back around.

"Hang on a second, let me check again and see if we have any left," she said, guilt painted all over her face before she turns to go back in the kitchen area.

Castiel manages to pull out a bright grin when she returns with a generous slice of cherry pie.

"Thank you, Tammy. You're a lifesaver!" he says with a wink, gratitude in every inch of his voice.

Tammy merely gives him a nervous grin and a salute, and Castiel walks off to pay for the pie, grabbing an extra fork as he goes. He walks to the edge of the room and sits down at a table near the door, where Dean would be certain to see him when he walks in. A couple of tables away is a small group of people drinking coffee, and he's unsurprised that their conversation stutters for a moment when he sits down, undoubtedly wondering why out of the almost entirely empty room, he would choose to sit so near to them. Two bites in and five minutes later, Dean walks in and immediately pauses as he makes eye contact with Castiel, just as planned. Dean eyes the pie suspiciously before moving to continue his path.

"Don't bother," Castiel says, just loud enough for Dean to hear.

Dean whirls around and stomps over to Castiel's table.

"Is- is that my pie?" Dean asks, slightly crestfallen. Then his face turns agitated. "Did Tammy give you my goddamned pie?!"

Castiel hates to admit it, but it's almost endearing how upset Winchester is over something as trivial as a piece of pastry. He can feel his lips twitch as he tries not to smile because that would only make it worse.

"Don’t take it out on Tammy, it's not her fault," Castiel replies calmly. "I got an extra fork," he says, nodding toward the table.

Dean's brows knit as he glances between the dessert station and Castiel and the pie before he finally sits down across from Castiel.

"It's my damned pie. Don’t see why I should have to share it," Dean mutters as he picks up his fork.

"Because I paid for it, so half of it's mine," Castiel replies simply.

Dean stabs a large bite and shoves it in his mouth, giving Castiel a stink eye throughout the process. Disgustingly, he decides to speak once he's about halfway through chewing.

"Why'd you do this, Novak? What do you want?" Dean asks, words muffled around the food.

Castiel makes a face at Dean's table manners but doesn't comment, figuring his face says it all. "I want you to talk to me. I know you're avoiding me, so I decided to find you."

Dean swallows and forks off another bite, smaller this time. "That's kinda creepy, you know."

"I do what is necessary," Castiel answers, taking his own bite.

They both chew their bites in silence, watching each other as they each try to determine the best way to handle the conversation. Castiel swallows his bite and licks his lips, wishing he'd thought to grab a bottle of water.

"Excuse me, I'll be right back," he says, standing up and digging around in his pocket. He makes his way over to the drink machine and buys a couple of bottles of water and sets one down in front of Dean when he returns.

Dean looks surprised at the offer and grabs the bottle slowly, as if unsure if it's really meant for him. "Thanks," he murmurs.

Castiel shrugs and uncaps his own water, taking a healthy swig. He glances over to Dean, and if he's not mistaken, Castiel could swear that Dean is looking at his throat when the man licks his lips. When they make eye contact again, Castiel is certain that Dean wasn't aware he was doing it and lets the observation go.

"Last week, you asked if we could call a truce of some sort, and I agreed. However, you are not holding up your end," Castiel says, finally breaking the silence.

Dean huffs a laugh that doesn't reach his eyes. "You never agreed, Novak. You just told me to come to your office. So technically, it's on you."

Castiel runs a frustrated hand through his hair, an old habit, and immediately regrets it when he feels the product graze his palm and hair stand up in a mess from where he'd carefully arranged it that morning. Great.

"Regardless, I agree that we need to come to some sort of understanding. I…may have communicated poorly, the other morning," Castiel says quietly.

Snorting his amusement, Dean takes another bite, but pauses the fork before it reaches his mouth, brow quirked. "Go on, then. This should be good."

Just for that, Castiel forks off a much larger bite than is polite just for spite and glares at Dean. "You're not making this easy, Winchester."

"'Course not. Gotta make it hard for everyone, or so I hear," Dean says teasingly.

The wording and tone give Castiel pause and he looks carefully at Dean, trying to discern whether that was a purposeful double entendre. Apparently though, it was an accident, as Dean blushes and looks away. Castiel pointedly shoves the horrifyingly embarrassing memory of the Halloween party to the back of his mind the moment it pops up and nervously clears his throat.

"You know what I meant," Dean mutters, shoving a bite of pie in his mouth.

"So, um," Castiel fumbles, internally facepalming. "Look, I never meant to imply that I wouldn't be doing my own share of the work. But that aside, I think it would serve us well to kind of…start over, perhaps? We don’t actually know anything about each other except for a handful of unfortunate experiences."

Dean stares him down for what feels like an eternity before he replies. "So what? You wanna just forget the whole last twelve years and act like they never happened?" he scoffs. "That's not how people work, Novak. And besides I do know a couple of things about you."

Castiel lifts a brow. "Oh? And what do you know?" It makes him a bit nervous when Dean glances around before leaning in, but he leans in as well, certain that whatever it is shouldn't be said loudly.

"Porn King," Dean says quietly, amusement lighting his eyes.

Closing his eyes, Castiel sighs through his nose and shakes his head. But then, oddly enough, a chuckle escapes.

"You know, all these years, and you're the first person that's ever made the connection," he says. But then he remembers who he's talking to and the amusement dies quickly. "You didn't say anything to anyone, did you?"

"Just Charlie, but she won't say anything," Dean says confidently. "But why the big secret? Embarrassed that your brother is a porn mogul?"

Castiel slides the plate with the remains of the pie toward Dean and leans back in his seat, shaking his head.

"No. He's done what he had to do, and I can't hold that against him, or his success. And if you're implying that I'm a prude, I think you should know better," he says, before he can stop himself.

Why? What in the hell possessed him to bring that up? Castiel groans internally and busies himself with taking a swig of water and avoiding eye contact with the other man. Winchester doesn't seem to be much better when Castiel chances a glance over, ears and cheeks red as he pokes at the pie in front of him. The silence that falls between them might be the most awkward that Castiel has ever experienced, and he doesn't quite fight the urge to run his hand through his hair again in time. Dean glances up at the motion and looks away quickly, clearing his throat as he moves to stand. Castiel follows his lead, gathering the plate and his water as he rises.

"So, um. Yeah. I'll shoot you an email before I leave tonight," Dean says, already turning to leave.

The awkwardness only gets worse when they have to walk together toward the door, but Dean rushes at the last second to reach the handle first and flings it open widely enough that Castiel can scoot through behind him without having to hold the door. Once they're out in the relative safety of the common area, they both look at each other at the same time, and with only a nod between them, part ways.

With great effort, Castiel keeps his steps calm and unhurried, even though he really wants to just sprint to the elevator and curl in on himself. At this point, he almost wishes that they'd left on the note of more familiar animosity, because he knows how to handle that. But no, he just had to go and insinuate about the one thing that they both clearly don't want to touch with a ten-foot pole and now things are going to be weird. Shit.


	5. An Idea

"This…is impressive," Castiel says quietly, thumbing through the contents of the folder.

Dean glares at the other man's tone of surprised reverence.

"Gee, thanks," he says, glaring extra hard when Castiel finally lets his eyes drift from the folder to Dean.

Castiel has the good grace to look a touch sheepish as he realizes how his words had come out.

"I just meant…this is extremely thorough for only a week's worth of work," Castiel explains, knowing it hasn't helped when Dean's face remains unmoved. "Never mind, forget I said anything," he mumbles, looking back to the papers.

It confuses Dean more than anything, once he realizes that Novak was trying in some way to pay him a compliment. They'd left on a weird note Friday, and Dean had waffled for thirty minutes about whether he really wanted to spend time in the close quarters of Novak's office with the man this morning. Eventually, Charlie all but kicked him out of the Nerd Cave, claiming that Dean's antsiness was messing with her flow, and Chuck stubbornly pretended not to hear them.

He even tried procrastinating by stopping by Courtesy and coaxing Benny out for a cup of coffee across the street. After twenty minutes though, Benny had had enough, too.

"What crawled up your ass this mornin'?" Benny had asked, eyebrow cocked as he blew into the little hole at the top of the lid of his coffee.

"Nothin'. What crawled up yours?" Dean replied, internally grimacing.

Benny leveled him with an unimpressed look for a moment before it melted into a smirk.

"Aw Dean, you wound me, using me to avoid talking to your boyfriend," Benny cooed, affecting a look of mock hurt that didn't reach his twinkling eyes.

"What?" Dean spluttered, nearly choking on the sip of his own coffee he'd taken. "What are you talkin' about?"

Benny chuckled and shook his head. "I heard about you and Novak's little dessert date. You must sure be somethin' special, 'cause Novak don't eat from the cafeteria if he can help it."

"Really, Benny? Didn't figure you to be one for office gossip," Dean said with a disapproving look, hoping it would hide the panic starting to build up his spine. "And it wasn't a date."

With a lazy shrug, Benny took a sip of his coffee. "People talk real loud," he said casually.

Dean paused, cup halfway to his mouth and frowned.

"So what…two dudes sit down to talk and it's automatically a thing? That's high school shit," Dean grumbled.

"Maybe," Benny shrugged again, but didn't have anything else to add besides a glance to the extra cup in Dean's left hand that was intended for Novak.

Dean tracked the movement and sighed. "Fine, I'm going."

And this is how Dean ends up getting the most incredulous look ever from Novak, as he slides the extra cup of coffee across the desk.

Castiel looks from the cup to Dean to the folder, as if he doesn't understand what's going on, and eventually settles on a "thank you," as he pulls the cup toward himself.

Dean grunts his acknowledgement and leans back in his chair, pondering what Benny had said. Why would anyone think there was something going on between he and Novak? Dean searches his memory banks for every interaction they'd had with witnesses, and okay, maybe things could be perceived that way to an outsider. Not that he cares what people have to say about himself, but…

"You know your little stunt on Friday earned us a run in the gossip mill, right?" Dean blurts.

Castiel's head snaps up just as Dean realizes he'd said that out loud.

"I mean, if you're not cool with people knowing that you're uh…" Dean trails off, wishing for the world that he'd kept his mouth shut.

Castiel doesn't immediately respond, just searches Dean's face with those stupid enormous eyes, as if the instructions for what he should say could be found in the pores of Dean's skin.

"That I'm gay?" he finally asks slowly. Dean nods, and Castiel makes a thoughtful humming sound before taking a sip of his coffee. "No, I don't care. I've never exactly hidden that fact. What is more worrisome is the assumption that there is something between _us,_ as it could be seen as a conflict of interest and get one or both of us in trouble. Or at least removed from this project."

But then something strange lights Castiel's eyes for a moment and he looks like he wants to say something, before he blushes slightly and turns his attention back to the folder full of papers.

Dean unabashedly studies the other man's face for a hint of what he might be thinking, as it becomes obvious that he isn't really looking at the documents in his hand. Eventually, Castiel sighs and glances up.

"You're staring," he chides, but the sentiment falls flat with the owlish blink and head tilt he gives Dean.

Dean shrugs unapologetically. "Just trying to figure out what just went through that head of yours."

Castiel shakes his head and sets the folder down, giving up on the pretense of work at the moment. He does, however, reach for his coffee and cradle the cup next to his chest, needing something to do with his hands.

"Nothing," he says, thumbing absently at the edge of his lid. Then he seems to think of something and frowns and sits forward. "You hacked my email," he accuses mildly.

Dean shrugs again, willing the blush not to rise to his cheeks at the thought of the childish reason why he'd done it. "I do what is necessary," he says, throwing Novak's words back at him. "But that's old hat, and don't try to change the subject. You can't bullshit me."

"I wasn't," Castiel says evenly. "And you don't know me well enough to know when I'm bullshitting."

"Don’t have to know you," Dean says quietly. "I have a talent for communications," he says, voice bitter with emphasis on the last word.

The swift change in tone gives Castiel pause as he considers what Dean could mean by that. Up until this point, there was the distinct sense that two different conversations were happening, but now he can't help but focus on this new topic. Dean is certainly not a shrink. And the unhappy tone implied that whatever it was that Winchester had done, he hadn't been pleased to do it, despite being good at it. He let himself think back on their interactions and the way Dean carries himself and speaks and…oh. Oh shit.

"You're a soldier," Castiel blurts. Dean's eyes go disconcertingly blank at that and he looks down to the cup in his hand, his throat working for a moment before he manages to clear it. "Were a soldier," Castiel corrects himself, voice soft.

Dean's jaw ticks and his unoccupied hand flexes around the end of the armrest for a moment and Castiel doesn't miss the action. Dean, who confessed that he knows how to read people, is clearly showing discomfort and Castiel can't help but be puzzled because there's no way that Dean doesn't know what his actions are showing. Castiel can only take it as a voluntary thing, that Dean is allowing him to see this somewhat vulnerable reaction and wonders for the first time if Dean is lonely or has anyone to talk to about it all. Something about that makes him sad, and Castiel's secretly soft heart forgets for a moment that they don't like each other.

"I don't know if anyone's ever said it to you, but thank you for your service, Dean," Castiel says earnestly.

A look of wonderment crosses Dean's features as he glances up to catch Castiel's eye. A moment passes between them, Castiel realizing that no one has indeed thanked Dean, and his heart hurts a little more.

"You shouldn't thank me," Dean mumbles, finally looking away.

Castiel knows guilt when he sees it and decides not to press any further. He knows the things that have gone on over in the Middle East, he's watched the news and heard the stories, and can only imagine the things the other man's had to do. It's upsetting, yes, but it's also…sort of attractive, in a way. Ignoring the unsavory parts of it all, Castiel's brain automatically conjures the imagery of Dean in uniform and Castiel huffs to himself when a thigh holster joins the scene, scrubbing a hand over his face. _Wow, way to be inappropriate._

"Back to topic, what are we gonna do about this rumor thing? Ignore it? Make it a point not to let anyone see us working together? I can't get yanked from this, I've got stuff riding on it," Dean states firmly.

Castiel shakes his head. "Now that I know part of your background, I'm fairly certain that it would take more than that to get yourself removed; your role in this tour is too important. I, on the other hand, could probably be replaced by my assistant." He really hopes that Dean has moved on from wanting to know what he was thinking a minute ago.

No such luck.

"Okay. So what were you thinking?" Dean pushes.

Castiel sighs softly as he considers whether he should give in to Dean's demands. Finally coming to a decision, he sits up straighter and laces his fingers together on top of his desk.

"I have a proposal that could work in both our favors," he says carefully. Dean mimics Castiel's posture and raises a curious eyebrow. "To be honest, I have no desire to work on this project, regardless of whom I might be paired with. This isn't my job, the hours have gotten ridiculous, and I'd really like to just get back to my normal work, so I wouldn't care if I were to be kicked off."

"Okay," Dean drawls.

"So…I say we let people say what they want. Perhaps if word gets around enough, I can be pulled off of this godforsaken thing, and you don't have to work with me anymore. That is…if you're okay with people knowing you're…" Castiel trails off this time, gesturing vaguely at Dean as he looks away. When he glances back up, Dean's mouth is twisting in confusion.

"I'm bi, and I don't care if people know, either. But what you're saying is that we _let_ people think we're doing…stuff," Dean blushes as he gestures between them. Castiel gives a small nod, but doesn't quite meet Dean's eye. "You uh, you realize that you're basically proposing the most awkward thing ever, right? Why don't you just tell Crowley that you don't want to do it?"

"I did," Castiel snaps. "He literally said, 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn,' and sent me out. And while I'm fairly certain that Crowley wouldn't give a shit about any of this, HR would probably pester him well enough that he'd at least put me back on my normal work, with a slap on the wrist on paper. He can't have bad publicity right now with the tour."

Dean quirks an irritating little humorless smile. "You must really hate this situation if you're willing to make yourself look bad to get out of it."

Something about the underlying self-deprecation in Dean's tone grates at Castiel in a way he doesn't expect. "Don't. Your reputation is good around here and therefore wouldn't affect me negatively by extension. I would be the one to look bad by 'abusing my position'. And I already told you my reasons," he says pointedly.

Dean's jaw ticks again as he considers Castiel's proposition. This is exactly the kind of thing that corporate environments try to prevent, and it could get ugly if it doesn't work and Dean gets shit-canned too, for unprofessionalism at best, and sexual harassment at worst. He briefly considers that that could be Castiel's goal, but so far he's seen nothing but honesty in the other man's features and body language. Novak might be an asshole, but not a career-ruining kind of asshole.

"Exactly how indispensable would you say I am?" Dean asks.

"There were twenty-seven other candidates, but you were automatically in the top three. One of them couldn't pass Crowley's particular background checks, and the other he just didn't like," Castiel says with an approximation of a shrug in the line of his lips. "I'm also fairly certain that your friend Charlie had a hand in it."

Dean nods as he takes the information in. "I'm fairly safe, then," he says to himself. "Alright. Let's do it. But if I hear a single whisper about my position being threatened, we gotta fix it right then and there."

The two men look at each other and it seems to occur to both of them exactly what they just agreed to, and Castiel looks away first, clearing his throat.

"I um, I suppose we don't really have to do anything much differently except," Castiel begins, but is cut off by Dean.

"You're going to have to flirt," Dean frowns. "Do you even know how?"

"Excuse me?" Castiel asks, incensed. He'd intended to say 'avoid fighting in public', before Dean cut him off, but in the face of Dean's insult, the thought is forgotten.

Winchester, the fucker, actually laughs.

"What? You're not exactly Mr. Suave. I'm surprised you don't have splinters in your mouth, the stick is shoved so far up your ass," Dean smirks.

"Well fuck you too, Winchester," Castiel glares.

Dean…was not prepared for the way that Castiel's voice dropped an octave when he spoke, and Christ, being told to fuck off should not have the hairs raising on the back of his neck. He should be offended, if anything, but the emotion doesn't seem to show any sign of manifesting. Instead, he drops into obnoxious flirt-mode and puts on a devious smile as he winks.

Castiel scowls, and the reaction should not make Dean want to cackle in victory. God, there's something messed up with him. Well, with _them_ , really; it shouldn't feel so much more natural communicating this way than with normal conversation.

"See, the scowling? No one's gonna buy it if you look pissed at me all the time," Dean finally points out.

"I am pissed at you most of the time we're around each other," Castiel says flatly.

Dean chuckles at that. "No shit, Novak. I've been pissing you off since the moment you laid eyes on me. But this is what I was talking about with the awkward; you've gotta at least pretend a little bit that I don't. I mean, we don’t have to try and _convince_ anyone of anything so much as just let people see what they want."

Castiel regards Dean seriously for a moment before he seems to deflate a bit and sighs. "I cannot believe this is my life," he mumbles to himself, fiddling with the edge of his tie.

"You're the one that suggested it," Dean says, eyebrows raised.

Not for the first time, Castiel wonders why in the hell he suggested this. Surely there had to be a better way to get out of this goddamned project. Instead of coming up with a better offer though, his mouth decides to go with, "You should call me by my first name then, as it sounds more personal."

Dean realizes then that he hasn't actually said the other man's first name, at least to his face, and feels oddly shy about trying it out now. "Fine. Castiel," he says slowly, as if tasting the shape of it on his tongue. It doesn't feel right and his face screws up at the wrongness of it. "No, that's weird. Makes me feel like that teacher that insists on using kids' proper names. Callin' you Cas."

Castiel tilts his head. No one but Gabriel has ever called him by a diminutive and it feels confusingly personal, though he has to admit that it's better than 'Cassie'.

"I suppose that's acceptable," he acquiesces.

"Good," Dean says, nodding firmly and sticking out a hand.

Castiel hums and nods his own acknowledgement as he takes Dean's hand. They haven't exactly laid out any specific terms of what they're doing, but somehow it feels important, this strange partnership they've formed. There is actually a metric fuck-ton of things they need to talk about, but Castiel senses that this iss not the time to do it; he's adaptable if nothing else, and can play things by ear until absolutely necessary.

When they release their hands, Dean wordlessly grabs a sharpie out of Castiel's pen cup and draws a small dot on the back of his hand before replacing the marker. Castiel looks at him questioningly, and Dean pulls out a pen this time, along with a post-it note from the stack on Castiel's desk.

'Reminder to erase our talk from the feed and turn off the mic,' Dean scrawls on the paper.

Castiel's eyes widen before darting around the room, clueless up to that point that he's even had surveillance in his office. Dean chuckles and grabs another post-it.

'Not telling you where it is or you'll look at it and then I'll have to come in and move it.'

Castiel lets his displeasure at this new knowledge seep deeply into his features, but doesn't prod for Dean to tell him the location of the hidden camera. Not while they are still in his office, anyway.

"Well, I believe we both have work to do," Castiel says neutrally. "I'll contact you if I have any inquiries about what you've given me here."

"Sounds good," Dean nods, standing up from his seat. He opens the door and pauses in the doorway to glance back at Castiel.

A flash of something mischievous passes in Castiel's eyes, the look of a secret shared and Dean's lips twitch in response. "See you around, Cas," he winks. Castiel, predictably, rolls his eyes and makes a shooing motion with his hand before looking back to his screen.

Dean slips out of Castiel's office and nods politely to the man's assistant. He figures he'd probably better learn her name because there is a good chance that here soon, Dean is going to be working with her instead of Cas. She merely smirks at him, and something about the sharp look in her eye makes Dean uncomfortable, so he keeps walking, lest he have to speak to the woman just yet.

Once he's back in the Nerd Cave, Dean immediately sets to task erasing the audio, starting two hours before their meeting and turning off the hidden mic in Cas' office. Can't be too careful, after all. Mission accomplished, Dean leans back in his chair and groans when he notices Charlie inching her chair up next to his.

"Whatcha doin' over here, Dean?" she asks with a mischievous grin.

"Nothing. Go back to…whatever it is you do," Dean grumbles, flapping a hand toward her desk.

"Come on, inquiring minds need to know!" she whines. "You're over here being all secretive and tampering with surveillance in Novak's office and I want to know, dammit."

Dean knows they can speak freely in this room; the first important thing he'd done upon being hired was to sweep the room for surveillance and had found none, surprisingly. He could only assume that Crowley didn't want there to be evidence of some of the dubious things they got up to in there. Still though, the fewer that know what he and Novak are doing, the better; but Dean also knows that Charlie won't let up and sighs heavily. At this, Chuck suddenly stands up and heads for the door, turning around as he puts his hand on the knob.

"I already hear enough about you and Novak from Becky. I don't need to be implicated in whatever it is you're actually doing," he says simply, before walking out.

Dean frowns, wondering just how far the rumors have spread, and asks Charlie as much.

"Well," she begins, looking a bit sheepish, "apparently, you two have been secretly dating since before you hired in and you're pretending to hate each other to cover it up?" she says, tacking on a little shrug. "There's also been a few rumors of angry supply-closet sex, and another that you two are exes, stuck working together."

Dean shakes his head and looks at Charlie.

"Benny told me there was talk, but I didn't know it had gotten that…detailed," Dean says, grimacing. "Do people seriously not have anything better to talk about?"

"Sorry, friend," Charlie says with only a little bit of an apology in her voice. To Dean's ears, all he heard was 'told you so'.

"Okay, I'm gonna tell you something, but it can't leave this room," Dean says seriously.

Charlie nods and sits up straight to give him her full attention. Dean recaps the conversation he and Cas had had, purposely ignoring the ginormous smirk that creeps up on his friend's face. When he's done, Charlie lifts her eyes, as if searching out patience in the ceiling tiles before she speaks.

"Dean, I love you, and you're an incredibly smart man, but this has to be one of the dumbest things you have ever agreed to," Charlie says with an amused shake of her head before continuing on.

"Sure, _you_ can put the flirt on all day long, but have you _seen_ Novak? The man probably hasn't flirted since he was in college. He doesn't smile, doesn't really socialize. You see where I'm going?" Charlie huffs. "Don't get me wrong, anyone with eyes can see the tension, but for this to work it's going to have to turn into more…positive tension, rather than 'I've been waiting twelve years to kick your ass' tension. Which means, God forbid, you two actually work out this thing between you. And besides, what if…oh, I don't know…it doesn't actually work?"

Charlie finishes her little tirade by leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest with a raised eyebrow, daring Dean to challenge her. He can tell that she has a hell of a lot more to say on the subject, but is carefully tucking it away.

"It'll work," he grunts. "It's like an undercover thing, and I know how to do that."

Charlie lifts a skeptical brow. "Really? You're approaching this like a drug raid or something?"

"Why not?"

"Not saying you shouldn't, just…don't be surprised if shit hits the fan, Dean," she says.

"It'll be fine, Charlie. It's just a little bit of fake flirting with witnesses, that's it," Dean says gruffly.

"Alright, but you know I'll be waiting with jazz hands to say 'I told you so'," she smirks, patting him on the arm.

"Yes, I'm well-aware of that. Thanks for your unending support and kindness," Dean says dryly.

Charlie just shrugs and grins before wheeling back over to her desk. "Just being real with you, Winchester," she says, face already turned back to her screen.

Dean sighs and turns back to his own screen and realizes that the video feed is still up for Cas' office. He only allows himself a moment to take in the pinched expression and stiff shoulders as Cas focuses on his work, before switching off the feed. He knows that if he thinks too deeply on it he'll start to doubt, and if this is going to work, he can't allow himself that.


	6. There was a firefight!

Castiel has three long days to worry over what exactly he proposed and what Dean agreed to before the first opportunity presents itself to put their plan into action.

He's mulled over whether he should really treat Dean that much differently, or actually try to flirt with the man. And being the rational person that he is, Castiel can admit to himself that under different circumstances, he would probably have no problem flirting with Dean. But as it stands, the man is infuriating, and Castiel truly isn't sure if he'll be able to reign himself in to any believable degree.

It's now Thursday afternoon, and Castiel has just stepped onto the elevator on his way back to his office from a meeting on the second floor. The elevator is more crowded than he's strictly comfortable with, and he internally groans as it comes to a stop on the third floor, and two more people crowd in. When he realizes that one of those people is Dean, Castiel feels a wave of anxiety sweep him from head to toe as his breath gets caught in his throat; all of the mulling was for nothing apparently, because Castiel has no clue what to do, now that their eyes have met in the confined space of the elevator. God, but it's humiliating, realizing that he really doesn't know how to flirt with Dean, and Castiel swallows harshly.

Fortunately, Dean seems fine with making the first move and gives Castiel a friendly wink before slithering over to stand directly behind him. It's only slightly closer than necessary, but not enough to be blatant; Dean has placed himself exactly where he should to rouse suspicion, but not allege any specific relationship. They don't touch, but Castiel can feel the body heat rolling off of Dean and smell his shampoo, and gentle breaths tickling behind his right ear. Castiel just barely suppresses a shiver at the sensation. Dean smells just as good now as he did years ago, and Castiel quashes that line of thought before it goes any deeper. Not a word passes between them, but Castiel does allow himself a subtle glance around to see if anyone's looking at them. So far, no one seems to be paying them any mind. Dammit, he's going to have to say something.

Turning his head just enough to aim his words at Dean, Castiel finds that the words aren't coming and Dean isn't offering anything, and at a loss for what else to do, Castiel just turns back to face the front and focuses on a piece of lint resting on the shoulder of the person in front of him. Why in the hell is this so difficult? He'd managed to summon up some charm with the lunch lady a week ago, but where was it now? And of course Dean isn't saying anything, because there's supposed to be a perception of Castiel being the one to charm _Dean._ A humorless laugh slips out, and a couple of people glance his way before he clears his throat and fiddles with his tie.

Before there's time for it to get any worse, the door is dinging open on Dean's floor, and the man is shuffling around Castiel to make his way out, along with two other people. Before he steps out though, he turns around and gives Castiel a heated smirk that at least two people seem to notice and walks out. The moment the doors close back, Castiel is tempted to let out a deep breath, but doesn't dare allow it with people still in there. Instead, he smiles politely at the two that have deemed it socially acceptable to look at him, and pulls a smirk to his lips that he doesn't really feel.

By the time he makes it back to his office, he feels drained from the short experience and realizes what a fool he was, to suggest that he and Dean could pull this off. He opens up his email with the full intention of drowning his thoughts out with the productivity of work, but lo and behold, there's a fresh message from Dean waiting in his inbox.

_'You eat lunch yet? We gotta talk.'_

Castiel groans out loud at this and scrubs a hand over his face. He wishes he could just tell Dean over email that the deal is off, but they both know better than to allude to it in a way that could leave evidence. Instead of answering Dean's email, Castiel just stands up and trudges out of his office.

"Going to lunch, Meg," Castiel says tiredly, not really waiting for a response from his assistant.

"Where you going? Anywhere that might have a cookie you could bring back with you?" she asks. Castiel gives her an unimpressed look. "Don’t look at me like that, Clarence. It's not like I'm asking for a raise here."

"I'll see what I can do," he mutters, continuing his steps.

Like Dean, Meg has never given a shit about Castiel's position, and though she can be a sarcastic little shit, Castiel does have a soft spot for her and her surprisingly irreverent attitude. He still doesn't know why she calls him Clarence, but it's been over a year now, and he has no desire to be mocked for asking.

This time he takes the stairs down to Dean's floor. Without thinking twice, Castiel slides his key card into the lock of the Nerd Cave and steps in, surprised when no one seems to notice his arrival. Chuck has an enormous set of headphones on, so okay. Then he notices that Charlie has earbuds in and is nodding to some beat, and Dean is frowning, deep in thought at what appears to be a set of building schematics.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel greets from the other side of his desk.

Dean's head snaps up and he makes a choked off sound of surprise.

"Shit, Cas! How'd you get in here?" he breathes.

"My keycard works everywhere but Crowley's office," Castiel says, holding up the card.

A mildly uncomfortable look crosses Dean's face. "Well, that's…good to know."

Castiel smirks. "Good to know that our security expert is well-informed," he taunts.

Dean glares at him before moving to fold up the schematics. "You know, a phone call would've sufficed," he grumbles.

Castiel casts a glance around the room at the other two workers, and Dean seems to understand what he's thinking.

"Charlie knows, and Chuck doesn't want to, but it doesn't matter…he doesn't remove the headphones after lunch unless he has to," Dean says, gesturing in Chuck's direction.

Dean then wheels over to Charlie's desk, knocking the back of his hand against her arm. She doesn't seem surprised at Dean's touch, but does go a little wide-eyed when she looks up and spots Castiel standing there. He can see her practically straining not to smirk as Dean mimes out taking a bite of food before standing up and patting her on the shoulder. She gives him a quick thumbs-up and goes back to her work with a little grin that makes Castiel wonder exactly how close she and Dean are.

"Let's roll," Dean says, slinging on his jacket.

They decide on a little café nearby that should be fairly empty of Rex employees, considering that the lunch rush is pretty much over. Dean takes the lead as they reach the door, and Castiel follows him to a booth in the back, where Dean seats himself facing the door. Wasting no time, Dean launches right in, ignoring the menus that are perched on the end of the table.

"So I got a stink-eye from the blonde that was standing next to you, and the bald guy looked surprised," Dean says conspiratorially, leaning on the table with his elbows. "But you're gonna have to step it up, Novak."

Castiel frowns and grabs a menu, not really seeing any of the items listed as he looks at it.

"I think we should call it off," Castiel finally says.

"Really? Because of one failed opportunity?" Dean asks, eyebrow arched. His eyes do that disconcerting searching look, but Castiel refuses to buckle under the scrutiny. "Hmmm," is all Dean says, before leaning back and opening a menu.

The server comes over to take their order, so Castiel has to wait patiently for her to leave before he speaks again.

"What do you mean, 'hmmm'?"

"Nothing, Novak, don't worry about it. We'll call it off, if you don't think you can handle it," Dean shrugs.

"Watch it, Winchester. You have no idea what I can and cannot handle," Castiel says defensively.

"Well, you sure as hell weren't handling anything back at the office," Dean says pointedly. "Have you never flirted your way through anything before?"

"I charmed the pie from the lunch lady last week," Castiel frowns. "I can do it when I have to."

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Okay, then what happened back there, huh? This," he gestures between them, "is just another means to an end. Just like charming pie from lunch ladies."

The server is on her way over with their drinks, so Dean hurries his next words. "Show me what you can do with the server. See if you can get her to give you a real smile."

Oh no. Castiel is not good with being put on the spot, and barely manages to conceal his alarm when the server approaches their table. He chances a glance at her as she sets their drinks down and makes his decision.

"Here you go, and your food will be out in just a minute, guys," she says robotically, already straightening back up and readying to go back to her duties.

"Actually, I was hoping you could help me with something," Castiel purrs, glancing at her nametag, "…Nina," he says, putting on the same grin he'd used on Tammy. Nina's polite work-smile falters for a moment before softening to something more genuine.

"And what's that?" she asks, one corner of her mouth tilting up.

Castiel absently strokes his fingers down the length of the glass she'd set down and notes when her eye catches the movement.

"Well," he says, looking up at her through his lashes, "I've never had dessert here, and I was hoping for an insider's opinion on the best one to order. I'm fairly easy to please," he says, subtly licking his lips. "Just can't make up my mind," he finishes with a guileless smile and a charming little shrug.

Dean watches in near-shock at the way Castiel goes from Scowly McFrownyface to Mr. Unimposing so fast it could cause whiplash. The server, unsurprisingly, grins widely at him and unconsciously steps a little closer to Castiel's side of the table as she makes her recommendations, all but ignoring Dean's existence.

Castiel then leans back a bit and rubs a slow hand over his belly as he grins. "Oh, you had me at blueberry cream pie. Would you mind to box me up a slice before we go?" He allows his grin to slip into a smirk when he sees the way Nina's eyes track down to his stomach.

"Um, no, not at all," she recovers, blushing a bit through a shy grin. Then she turns to Dean and the grin slips back into the polite look she'd originally had. "What about you? Care for some dessert as well?"

Not to be outdone, Dean puts on his own grin reserved for bartenders and servers and is pleased when he finally gets some recognition in the form of another bashful smile.

"Yes, actually, same as him, but don't box mine. Gonna savor it right here," Dean says, putting a subtle emphasis on 'savor'.

Disappointingly, Nina doesn't rise to the bait and simply nods.

"Alright, duly noted, gentlemen," she says politely, winking at Castiel before she walks off.

Once the server is out of earshot, Dean looks to Castiel and the man's typical unimpressed look is back on his face. Dean leans across the table, practically in Castiel's space.

"Dude," he hisses, "what the fuck, man?"

Castiel shrugs and picks at a little scratch on the table. "I know how to get what I want, Dean. I learned a long time ago."

Something about the way he says it seems almost sad, rather than the boastful tone that Dean would've expected, and it makes Dean mildly uncomfortable to think of Castiel on such a human level.

"Well, you might seem to have some weird way with the ladies for reasons I'm not gonna try and understand, but dudes don't go for that," Dean says.

Castiel raises an eyebrow at him and lets a sweet little grin fall across his face as he licks his lower lip before biting it for a moment. He even tilts his head as he does it, eyes flicking from Dean's mouth and back to his eyes, reveling in his victory when Dean mimics the glance unconsciously and licks his own lips.

"Really?" Castiel asks quietly, eyes all wide and voice dripping an earnest-sounding innocence. The only thing that betrays his act is the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth while he tries not to smirk. Dean seems to come to himself then, and shakes his head, leaning back in his seat.

"Asshole," Dean mutters.

Castiel chuckles at that and takes a sip of his drink, clearly pleased with himself. It chafes at Dean.

"Yeah, go ahead and look smug. But keep in mind that no one at Rex is going to buy the demure act, coming from you," Dean points out. "You haven't exactly established yourself as a sweetheart up there."

Castiel's expression falls a bit and goes unreadable for a moment.

"It's not my job to be a sweetheart," he replies, the last word sounding foreign on his lips.

"Not sayin' it is," Dean shrugs. "But everyone knows that already, so no one'd expect you to be all doe-eyed. So. Show me how you'd hit on a guy."

Castiel glances shrewdly around the restaurant and Dean huffs in a cross between disbelief and amusement. "Me, dipshit. You've gotta practice on me."

"You certainly know how to inspire amorous feelings in a man," Castiel says dryly, then rolls his eyes. "I don't know how to hit on you like that, Dean. You irritate me too much," he says honestly.

"Hit on me like what?" Dean asks, ignoring the last part.

"Like I'm trying to get in your pants," Castiel frowns. "I don't generally make a practice of trying to seduce people that frustrate me."

A look crosses Dean's face that makes Castiel nervous; it's the look of someone considering saying something they might regret and edging toward saying it anyway. Oh god, as if this entire conversation hasn't been uncomfortable enough. Nina chooses that moment to come around with their food, and Castiel easily slips back into that unassuming yet subtly sexy mode he'd adopted earlier as he thanks her with a toothy grin. The moment she walks off, he's back to normal, forking up a bite of his pasta as if nothing had happened. Something about it seems to make up Dean's mind, and Castiel internally groans for what Dean might say next.

"Look, I know it's kinda weird because of..." Dean trails off, gesturing vaguely between them and looking away. "But I just saw you turn it on and off like it was nothing, Cas. So just turn it on again, but I don't know, pretend you don't know me and I'm just some dude."

A pregnant silence falls between them as Castiel calmly chews his food and then takes a swig of his drink before bringing his eyes back up to meet Dean's.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually _want_ me to flirt with you," Castiel smirks, voice dipping low.

It takes the belated quirk of Castiel's eyebrow for Dean to realize that Castiel is giving his suggestion a shot and not just randomly flirting with him. It takes him even longer to realize that it won't work if he doesn't respond back and fumbles mentally for a moment, looking for a response.

"So what if I do?" Dean shrugs, grinning cheekily. "Can't blame a guy for being curious as to how the great Castiel Novak would go about being un-serious long enough to hit on someone."

Castiel nods to himself, then pushes his plate aside and leans so far against the table that he's way further into Dean's personal space than it seems like the table should permit. His eyes go startlingly intense and seem to pin Dean to the spot as he waits for Castiel to respond.

"I don't think you're prepared for that, Winchester," he murmurs. "I don't fuck around," Castiel adds, voice quiet and gravelly.

Dean practically feels his pupils dilate, but manages to refrain from swallowing because holy shit, Cas really doesn't fuck around.

"Awful big talk there, Cas," Dean smirks, sending his own heated look between them. "But can you actually follow through, is the question."

A mischievous little smile gives Cas' eyes an attractive glint as he leans back to sit normally.

"I could," he nods. "But that would be unkind of me."

"How do you figure?" Dean asks, still leaning on the table.

"Because then you'd have to figure out how to deal with an inappropriate hard-on in the middle of a restaurant," he says, stroking his glass again. Castiel feels gratified when Dean's eyes glance at the motion and he licks his lips and it gives Castiel an ego boost that has him continuing to speak, even though he knows he already made his point. "Unless you like that sort of thing, of course…the fear of getting caught, knowing that anyone could look down and see that you're turned on."

And goddamn him, if Cas' words don’t nearly achieve exactly that, and Dean has to look away as he feels the beginnings of a bulge forming in his pants. It's mortifying, feeling the flush creep up his neck and knowing that freakin' Novak can not only see it, but is the one that caused it. This was supposed to be some harmless flirting, not a sampler for Cas' dirty talk.

"Oh my god, you actually do like that," Cas whispers, real surprise in his voice.

Dean wants nothing more than to take off for the bathroom and hide, but it's just not an option with the way his dick seems to have decided that embarrassment isn't a good enough reason to stay down. He buries his face in his hands and takes as deep a breath as he can manage through his mouth.

"Okay you win, now please don’t talk for a minute," Dean says, uncaring for the fact that it's muffled through his hands.

He only gets a few seconds of reprieve before Cas speaks again, this time voice much closer as he whispers.

"Did- did I just turn you on?" Cas asks, voice _still_ laden with surprise. "Is that why you're still sitting here?"

Dean groans behind his hands, his stomach leaping at the words. "Shut up, Novak," he nearly pleads.

"Sorry," Cas says, sounding genuinely apologetic.

Nina comes over to check on them, and Dean vaguely registers that Cas has explained that Dean has a headache when she asks if he's okay. It's unexpectedly merciful of him, and kind of makes Dean want to punch Castiel in the arm for causing it all to begin with. Once their server walks away, Dean takes a few deep breaths and finally uncovers his face, but doesn't take his eyes off his plate.

"I really didn't-" Cas begins, but Dean cuts him off.

"Nope, not a word, Novak. We're going to pretend this didn't happen, understood?" Dean orders. At Castiel's nod, Dean continues. "And since you don't seem to have a dimmer switch on your…skills…the arrangement is out of the question. You can't talk like _that_ around the office."

Maybe it's harder to turn off the mindset of flirting than he thought, or perhaps he just wants to rile Dean, but whatever the reason for Castiel's next words, he doesn't know as they tumble out, preceded by a dark chuckle.

"And you thought I was the one that couldn't handle it. Like I said, Winchester, you don't know me," Cas says with an obnoxious grin and a wink.

Dean looks at him sharply, hawkish. But then a grin curls his lips that reminds Castiel of the Grinch and Castiel knows he fucked up when Dean leans over the table this time. Shit.

"You're right, you know. I don't really know you. But I do know a few things that say an awful lot about you. For instance," Dean said, voice dropping low, "I know that with enough alcohol, you're very…responsive. So I'm guessing that you don't let yourself lose control very often."

Fucking hell, Winchester really is going to go there. The asshole really is going to bring up that night, and Castiel can feel his mouth drop open in surprise, but words aren't coming as Dean continues on, ignoring the flirting embargo he'd just set.

"And while letting go might fluster you at first, it doesn't last long because it just feels too good to stop; you let yourself get lost in it. Especially when you're secretly a little kinky, but never seem to find the person that you can indulge with. So you take what you can get when you can get it, even if it's never quite enough, just to take the edge off," Dean finishes, settling back in his seat nonchalantly.

Nina comes over a few seconds later to drop off their desserts and tickets, as well as offer Dean a box for his mostly untouched lunch. Castiel desperately tries to come up with a response to Dean's painfully accurate analysis, knowing that Dean probably has more to say but wis just making a point. Dean thanks Nina with a boyish grin, and the moment the pie is set down in front of him, forks up a bite. He seems to hesitate, and Castiel realizes too late that Dean was waiting for Nina to get out of earshot before lifting the bite to his mouth and moaning pornographically around his fork, eyes closed and letting out a deep breath.

With no desire to give Dean the satisfaction of reacting any more than his gaping did, Castiel carefully adopts his business-cool exterior and busies himself with fishing his credit card from his wallet. He needs to get the hell out of this situation _now,_ and wriggles out of the booth, gathering his takeaway dessert as he goes. Dean has the audacity to smirk at what is clearly Castiel making an escape, and the look makes Castiel's blood boil. Like hell is Dean getting the last word in this little game. Fuck that.

Letting a soft little unassuming smile grace his lips, Castiel steps to Dean's side of the booth and rests a hand at the top of the seat behind Dean's head so that he can lean in. When his lips are inappropriately close to Dean's ear and when Castiel is certain that Dean isn't going to move away, he murmurs, letting his voice drop deeper.

"You'd be wise to remember that I know things about you too, Dean. Like the fact that you seemed to _enjoy_ the feeling of being at my mercy that night, being pinned to the wall and just enjoying the ride. I bet you even liked being left hard and denied, on some level," Castiel says, relishing Dean's quick intake of breath when he dares to breathe on Dean's neck. "We all have our kinks, don't we?" he drawls.

As Castiel pulls away, he chances a quick glance to Dean's lap and is more satisfied than he should be to see that Dean is indeed hard. And for the second time in four years, Castiel is going to leave him that way, though for much different reasons this time. Dean's eyes are bright with anger and arousal when he looks up, and Castiel just chuckles before turning to walk off and make for the front counter to pay for his lunch. He feels Dean's eyes boring holes into the back of his head as he pays, and the feeling doesn't subside as he pushes through the door to exit the café.

A satisfied smile settles on Castiel's lips at his victory as he makes his way back to the office and doesn't slip until he makes it to the front doors of the Rex building. As he reaches for the door handle, Castiel is abruptly reminded that he and Dean aren't just old semi-acquaintances with a grudge; they're co-workers. He'd gotten so wrapped up in their little pissing match that he'd honestly forgotten about the whole reason behind what they were doing to begin with. Shitshitshit. Oh god, the number of lines they crossed at lunch. _Dean was right, you let yourself get lost in it and now what?_ Castiel scolds himself.

By the time Castiel makes it to his office, he's well and into a foul mood, angry with himself for letting that freckled bastard get him so worked up. He unceremoniously dumps the pie on Meg's desk as he stomps through and notes with some mild relief that she seems to know not to mess with him at the moment. He barely refrains from slamming his door behind himself like a pissy teenager and stomps over to his desk chair, letting himself fall heavily into it.

The victory Castiel felt on the walk back has been replaced by defeat as he realizes that by feeling the need to get the last word in, he'd already, in essence, admitted that Dean won their fucked up little competitive flirting match. And who even does that? Who in their right mind uses flirting and mild seduction as a technique for one-upmanship with someone that makes them want to pull their hair out? Castiel groans internally because this has to be by far the most immature thing he's ever done, and he's too old for this bullshit. He's a grown, educated man in a semi-powerful position and owns his house outright, yet can't seem to control his urge to act like the twenty-two year old that he was the first time he met Dean Winchester.

 _Oh, boo-hoo, you spent your lunch break flirting with a disgustingly attractive man,_ an annoyingly Gabriel-esque voice floats across his thoughts.

Castiel takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, willing his mind to blank out all the pointless thoughts and speculation and focus on one idea: _You got carried away, it's not the end of the world. Now suck it up and adapt, and let Dean determine the next move._

Feeling a little better, Castiel lets out the breath and nods to himself, once; he's back in control, even if that means giving it to Dean for the time being. It may be an unusual approach, but Castiel doesn't care, as long as it gets the job done.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from The Boondock Saints.


	7. The Great Office Cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You might want to grab provisions, because this chapter ran a bit longer than normal, but I figured you all would appreciate that more than two shorter-than-normal chapters. Thanks for hanging in there with me :)

It wasn't difficult to avoid Novak for the rest of the day once Dean was able to leave the café without offending anyone with his crotch, and avoided the man into Friday. Dean purposely kept busy over the weekend, doing long-neglected household chores and running every errand he could think of. Unfortunately though, all the busy work in the world hadn't replaced the need for Dean to consider what he should do, come Monday.

Sometime around the moment that Dean had pulled out a bag of chips in lieu of dinner Sunday night, his avoidance of the issue had finally caught up with him. When he'd sat down with his chips and the new episode of Dr. Sexy, M.D., Dean had thought he'd chosen a good distraction.

Oh, how wrong he was, though. The episode itself was fairly inconsequential to the overall plot of the season, but what got to Dean was all the stuff in-between. The tension between two of the surgeons that hated each other, but always got paired for surgeries because they did good work together. Then tension that spilled into an angry brawl in the parking lot, and then ended with steamy angry-sex in the back seat of one their cars. The gossip around the hospital about the two, and then the subsequent spat because of it that led to an equally aggressive make-out session in an empty exam room.

Dean's brain couldn't help but wander into Novak-related territory, and it pissed him off, even as he imagined that if he and Cas were to sleep together, it would probably be fairly similar in aggressiveness to the two surgeons. There would likely be buttons ripped off, scratch marks, and some bruises by the end of it, and Dean swore audibly as he felt his cock stir in his pants at the thought. Dean had glanced down pleadingly at his own crotch, as if he could convince it to stop agreeing with the stupid images swimming through his brain. It didn't work, and Dean finally turned off the TV, needing to clear his head of sexy workplace scenarios. This Novak situation was cutting into his personal time, and needed to be solved pronto. A shower, yes, that would clear his head.

As Dean relaxed into the warm spray, his thoughts finally seemed to drop into more productive places. Okay, maybe 'productive' was stretching it a bit, because really, all he'd come up with by the time his hands were pruned was that he'd just play it by ear. There were simply too many variables: whether they had an audience next time they saw each other, whether Novak was still interested in their arrangement, the vibe the man would put off when he saw Dean again. It was possible, but not really reasonable to plot out what he would do under every scenario. Besides, Dean generally had good instincts, and had come to trust them over his lifetime, so that seemed as good a place to work from as any.

 

***

 

In a remarkably clear-headed moment for the early hour, Dean decides to pass on going to Novak's office to deal with the reports like he had the weeks before, opting instead to gather intel. He pulls up the video feed in Novak's office and zooms the camera in a little, so he can get a better view of Novak's face. The man looks tired. His movements are slower than usual, and his posture is slumped. Dean snickers quietly to himself when he sees Novak try to take a sip of his coffee and pull the cup away, frowning at it as he seems to realize that it's empty.

Now that he knows what he's dealing with- should he run into Novak- Dean turns off the feed and sets to work on his part of the project. He knows that Novak wouldn't blame him for avoiding him last week, but Dean figures that the man's patience will only hold out until tomorrow morning at the latest. After that, Dean's certain he can count on emails and phone calls, so as a proactive measure, he focuses on getting as much done with the project as possible.

Within three hours, Dean's made some headway and is at a good stopping point to take a break, so he leans back for a good stretch and some incredibly satisfying eye rubbing. Once his vision clears, he stands up and glances over to Charlie's desk, surprised when she isn't there; apparently he'd been so intent on his work, he hadn't noticed her get up. Shrugging, Dean makes for the door to the Nerd Cave and pulls it open, only to nearly mow right over a body in the way, right outside the door.

"Oh," Castiel says, startling backwards a few inches, as Dean catches himself on the doorframe.

"Hey…Cas," Dean says somewhat awkwardly, more like a question.

Cas' expression is fairly unreadable at the use of the nickname, and the only thing Dean can find in it is something like wariness.

"Hello, Dean. I was just coming to see if you had anything new for me," Cas informs him, voice deeper and rougher than normal. Huh.

"You okay, man? You're not getting sick are you?" Dean asks, somewhat concerned.

Cas rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "No, not sick. My brother- actually, can we sit down?" he cuts himself off. "I feel like hell today," he admits.

Dean is surprised by Cas' candor, and makes the decision to not poke at Cas today, unless poked first.

"Well, I was about to head out to get a cup of coffee next door. Mind to wait a minute?" Dean asks, gesturing toward his desk. He feels odd offering to leave Novak in his workspace, but he's not so rude as to suggest that the man leave and then come right back.

Castiel glances from Dean's desk and back to Dean before he brings a hand up to rub at his eye. "That's fine. May I use your computer to pull up my files on the cloud while you're doing that? It would be more productive."

Dean eyes him carefully, and yeah, it looks like Novak is about three seconds away from falling over and could stand to have a chair under him. Just on principle, Dean doesn't like the idea of Novak using his computer, but realistically the chances of him doing anything less than professional on it are slim.

"Fine, go ahead. I'll be back in a minute," Dean says, gesturing toward the room at large.

Novak just nods and moves past Dean, yawning as he plunks down in the chair. Not that Dean had had any real expectations of what their interactions would be like today, but it's still strange, getting this…normal human being-version of Novak. It's actually kind of a relief, despite the way his brain quietly reminds him that this is the same man that had given him one of the most frustrating experiences of his life, just days before. It's with that thought that Dean realizes what's going on: Novak isn't just tired. He's being purposely neutral and putting the ball in Dean's court.

Dean barely holds back his grin at the thought that Novak must have realized how out of line he was and has basically conceded. It's only a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

"You want anything while I'm there?" Dean asks.

Novak looks surprised at the offer, and it kind of digs at Dean that the man thinks so little of him as to think he wouldn't have the decency to at least ask. Not that their history has really proven otherwise, but still.

"If you don't mind, I'd take a venti triple-shot capp-"

"Oh good lord," Dean cuts the man off. "I'm not gonna remember anything fancy like that."

Novak shoots him an amused look, no doubt remembering their first meeting, before helping himself to Dean's desk drawers as he searches for something to write on. Dean knows good and damned well he doesn't have any post-its, because he ran out last week and hasn't bothered to get more. Instead of letting Novak paw through all of his stuff, Dean just huffs and walks over, extending his hand.

"I don't have any post-its. Just write it here," Dean says.

"The supply closet is literally across the hall," Castiel chides as he grabs a pen. As soon as he has the pen uncapped, he reaches for Dean's hand to hold it steady and starts writing down his order on the top of his hand.

Castiel's hands are cool to the touch, and confusingly soft; the dude must go through lotion like crazy. Even his stupid handwriting is nice, a simple script of evenly spaced words and easy to read letters. Dean curses himself for making note of these trivial things, but can't seem to stop staring at the minute movements of the knuckles and bones in the back of Castiel's hand. God, he has nice hands. And unfortunately, now Dean knows with startling clarity what they feel like touching his skin.

Without planning to, Dean lets the back of his fingers trail along the man's palm as he pulls his hand away. As soon as he does it, Dean wants to smack himself in the face, and especially when those blue eyes snap up to his, looking as surprised as Dean feels with his own behavior. Instead, Dean clears his throat and makes for the door without another word before the other man has time to notice the blush rising up on his cheeks.

Dean berates himself all the way to the coffee shop for the thoughtless flirtation, no matter how subtle, _and_ his own ridiculously juvenile reaction to Novak's freakin' _hands_. Why? Why in the hell had he done that? Once he has their orders in hand, Dean spends the walk back to his office reminding himself firmly that Novak is a pie-stealing, reservation-yoinking, beer-dumping, bird-flipping dick. Feeling more like his normal wary self, Dean strides purposefully into the Nerd Cave, fully prepared to be a professional and just discuss the project and then send Novak on his way and pretend that whatever that little moment was, didn't happen.

Walking in, Dean is glad to see that Charlie is back, but then he notices Charlie throw the other man a little wink before she smirks at Dean and rushes to put her earbuds in. Novak looks somewhat uncomfortable, and it does absolutely nothing to abate Dean's concern at the possibilities of what Charlie must have said to him. Apparently, Novak _doesn't_ scare the shit out of her anymore, and the thought makes Dean nervous.

Figuring he'd get the truth out of Charlie later, Dean pushes his worry aside and sets the cups down on the desk before pulling a chair over so they can both see the computer screen. Castiel immediately inspects the cups to find his own and clutches it gratefully.

"Thank you," he says earnestly, before taking a small sip. He closes his eyes and hums after he swallows, as if that one sip could make his day. "As I was saying, my brother's in town visiting, and hassled me into taking him to a club last night. It was so loud we had to shout to hear each other, and then I ended up spending an hour outside with him while he tossed his cookies next to the car. I'm running on very little sleep," Castiel said, rubbing his temple with his free hand.

Well then. That pretty much explained everything.

"You're sure you're not getting sick though? It was like fifty degrees out last night, and if you were out in it for an hour…"

Castiel rolls his eyes as he sets his coffee down. "I was wearing a coat. And even if I were sick from it, it wouldn't be contagious. Thanks for the concern, though," he says dryly.

Ah, there he is. There's the Novak that Dean's used to. It crosses Dean's mind that he's been mentally calling the man different variations of his name, according to the sort of thought he's having about him. Weird. Dean shrugs it off though, in favor of defending his honor. Or whatever.

"Who says I'm not concerned? I can be concerned," Dean retorts, affecting a look of being offended, though he doesn't know why; he really hadn't been all that offended by Novak's assumption.

It earns him a look that is somehow even dryer than the tone that Novak had spoken with, followed by a purposeful silence as the man holds the look. Dean knows what Novak is doing; it's a tactic used to get people who are fibbing to tell the truth by making them uncomfortable. Dean refuses to give in though, because despite the look on his face, his words had been truthful. Novak's frustration at not winning this round transforms his look into something calculating.

"Why don't you try a sip of my coffee?" Novak asks lightly, but his eyes are burning with a challenge.

 _Oh, he thinks he's so clever, trying to out me as some paranoid asshole,_ Dean inwardly smirks.

"Thanks, but I'm good with my plain old black," he says, tapping his fingers against the side of his own cup and throwing in a purposely-irritating smirk.

Castiel tilts his head at that, eyes narrowing, though they never leave Dean's. These little games they play are childish, but for whatever reason, neither of them seem to be able to just _not_ do it.

"You're a germaphobe," Castiel says bluntly, after a pause.

"I am not."

Castiel smirks and nods to himself. "I'll concede that perhaps you aren't phobic by clinical terms, but it's an issue with you nonetheless, that takes priority over other people."

"What? Is it a crime now, to look after my own health?" Dean replies, crossing his arms over his chest. How dare Novak try to act like he's a bad person for being worried about his own health? Plus, the man obviously has no idea that Dean has a tendency to mother hen people he cares about when they're sick.

"No, but there's no rational reason for you to think I'm contagious. Any illness I might have would be strictly the result of agitated tissues from prolonged exposure to chilly air," Castiel replies calmly.

"What do you want me to say, Cas?" Dean asks tiredly.

"I want you to admit that you're full of shit and not concerned at all," Castiel says crisply.

"Why? What's the point?" Dean asks, starting to get frustrated now. He knows damn well _why,_ but wants to hear it from the other man. For whatever reason, Castiel seems hell-bent at the moment on trying to validate his dislike for Dean, and Dean doesn't quite know what do with that.

Castiel's eyelids drop a bit, and his jaw clenches briefly, almost imperceptibly: sadness and frustration. Disappointment. Sometimes Dean wishes he couldn't read these things.

"Because you're being disingenuous and I don't appreciate it," Castiel says, voice low. "It's fine if you don't care, but don't patronize me by pretending you do. It's insulting."

This is probably the most personal conversation they've ever had, and Dean is at loss for why it's happening. Any other time, Dean would get defensive at the barb against his character, but at this moment, he suspects that Castiel's tiredness has made him somewhat emotional and he may not even realize what he's doing. Time to tread carefully.

"I don't dislike you so much that I'd want you to be sick, but I also don't want it for myself, either. It's true that the first time I asked if you were sick was for my own well-being. But then you explained why you sound like you've been eating sandpaper, and I agree that you probably aren't contagious. So my second time asking was actually out of concern, okay? I'm not always trying to be an asshole," Dean says somewhat bitterly, thumbing the lid on his coffee cup.

Castiel doesn’t say anything for several seconds, but Dean can see the man's fingers working around his own coffee cup in his peripheral. When Dean looks up, Castiel is looking at him incredulously, before he seems to come to a decision and nudges his cup forward a couple inches.

"Prove it, then," he says. "Drink after me."

Jesus, what crawled up his ass today? Why is this so damned important to him? Dean knows it's pointless, but still clings to his last string of stubbornness.

"No. I wasn't lying when I said I don't drink that frou-frou shit," Dean says firmly.

Castiel nods and taps his fingers on the desk as he looks at his cup for a moment, before bringing his eyes back up to meet Dean's.

"Alright, then. Kiss me."

Dean is so taken-aback at the bold demand that he literally leans back in his surprise.

"Dude! Are you fucking kidding me?" he asks, voice cracking as it goes higher in pitch. He clears his throat. "You don't even like me! And Charlie's right there!"

Castiel quirks an amused eyebrow. "Dean, you don't have to like someone to kiss them. And I'm not really hearing a no, either."

Dean's blood rushes to his face impossibly fast as he's reminded of the surgeons on the show the night before, and the parallels his brain had drawn. And now Novak's chuckling at Dean's traitorous skin, and Dean would love nothing more than to just put a paper bag over his head from here on out because apparently, the other man has a special talent for making Dean blush. Fuck, it's embarrassing.

Standing up, Castiel seems to have gathered new energy and smooths his tie absently, as he makes sure to catch Dean's eye. "I'm going to go to the supply closet and see if I can find you some more post-it notes." And with that, he strides casually out of the Nerd Cave, as if everything is normal.

Dean stares in shock at the door for a moment, failing to understand what's happening. One moment they're having normal banter, then Cas goes all probing and emotional, and now he's randomly proposing that they get handsy at the office in the most cliché way possible? Not that Dean minds the offer, but it's still confusing.

Glancing over to Charlie's desk, Dean is greeted with the sight of Charlie smirking at him and leaning back in her seat, eyebrows raised as she removes her earbuds.

"I have no clue what you two were saying, but I'm pretty sure that it's supposed to conclude with you following him and offering to _personally_ pull the stick out of his ass. Maybe replace-"

"Oh my god, just don't," Dean cuts her off, holding up a hand and shaking his head.

"Just sayin'," Charlie shrugs. "Dude, I'm gonna annex off part of my kingdom, name it Asshatica, and crown you the king next weekend, if you don't go after him."

The worst part is, Charlie really would do that, plus drop hints to everyone as to why she did it, when they LARP next weekend. Dean sighs and scrubs a hand over his face before bringing it down to point threateningly at his friend.

"I'm gonna go get some office supplies, and you're gonna keep your mouth shut," he says sternly.

"Yes sir," Charlie says with a cheesy grin, followed a mime of zipping her mouth.

Dean spares her one last pointed glance and then walks out of the Nerd Cave. The door to the supply closet is right in front of him as soon as he steps into the hall, and Dean feels his stomach twist as his heart kicks up a harsh thump behind his ribs. He feels ridiculous getting so worked up; they've done this before, even if it has been four years. Before he can talk himself out of it, Dean slides his keycard in the lock and opens the door.

The closet is only about the size of a handicapped stall in a public restroom, and Cas is leaning against a shelf of boxes of printer paper, looking smug as fuck. Dean ignores him for the moment though, and turns to the electronic keypad on the wall next to the door. All supply closets require a certain level of clearance to get into- to reduce supply theft- and the interior keypad is a safety precaution, kind of like an emergency release inside the trunk of a car. Apparently, someone once accidentally locked their self in a closet, over a weekend. Dean punches in an overriding lock code, and swallows harshly once it beeps its confirmation, but he can't seem to turn around just yet. He stands there for a moment, trying to calm his heart and gather his nerve.

"I know I'm older now, but surely I haven't aged _that_ badly," Cas says quietly, breaking the silence.

Dean turns around at that and frowns at the faint uncertainty edging Cas' voice. It was obviously meant to be a joke, but Dean knows by the way the man's eyes dart away briefly that he hadn't been mistaken in his perception.

"You want me to be _real_ with you?" Dean asks. At the acknowledging lift of Cas' chin, Dean continues on, edging slowly toward the other man as he speaks. "Alright then. You aggravate the shit out of me damn near every time I'm around you. You're sarcastic and abrupt and spiteful and sneaky. But one thing you'll _never_ hear me complain about is how you look. It pisses me off, and it has from day one, because you're an asshole in hot guys' clothing. And fuck you for looking better than you did ten years ago, by the way."

Cas' eyes flash from skeptical to unimpressed, surprised, and then finally come to rest somewhere between amused and insulted as Dean finishes his little speech. They stand there looking at each other for a long moment, Cas' gaze occasionally flicking to Dean's lips as he seems to consider whether to respond verbally, or attack Dean's mouth. And really, it wouldn't be too far of a reach; there are only maybe six inches between them, now.

With the realization of how close they are, Dean allows himself to really rake his eyes over the finer details of the face in front of him; the unreal depth in his eyes, the long dark lashes, full lips, little lines by his eyes. As Dean takes in every little line and detail, he realizes they aren't the lines that an unhappy person tends to adopt by this age; no, Cas has clearly spent many years smiling, and something about that fact jars Dean a bit. How had he not caught that before? This man might take his work seriously, but that doesn't mean he's always so stiff. Dean also realizes belatedly that Cas isn't just a hot guy. No, the bastard's fucking gorgeous, and it's totally unfair.

Dean has no idea how long he's been staring at Cas, probably no more than a few seconds, but it startles him nonetheless when the man speaks.

"As much as I enjoy looking at your stupid handsome face, we should probably move this along," Cas suggests. "And fuck you too, Winchester," he adds on with a pinch of his brows, almost as an afterthought.

There's a small pause there, where they both seem to hesitate, before Cas finally huffs and pulls Dean in by his shirt to crash their lips together.

At the forceful tug, Dean's hands fly up to catch the shelf on either side of Cas' shoulders so he doesn't squash the guy, grunting into the kiss. Cas gives him a second to get his balance, and then launches into a full assault of Dean's mouth, barely seconds before he licks at Dean's lower lip. Dean opens immediately, but isn't content to just let Cas have his way and pushes out with his own tongue to meet the other man halfway. Cas growls into the kiss and brings his hands down to pull Dean in greedily by the hips, and Dean preens internally as he realizes that Cas is already half-hard.

The kiss is more tongues and teeth and years of frustration than an actual kiss, and Dean doesn't quite refrain from grinning into it; it occurs to him that it's almost as much a fight as anything they've ever said to each other. He'd been right in his calculation, the night before. Score one, for Dean.

Cas pulls back to catch a breath, his eyes dark and nearly wild looking. Dean only has a moment to consider how devastatingly hot it is, before the man swoops back in to attach his lips to Dean's jaw. He sucks just hard enough to make his point without leaving a mark, mouthing his way toward Dean's ear, speaking in-between kisses.

"You are argumentative," kiss, "immature," suck, "abrasive", lick. And then Cas reaches his ear and nips at the lobe. "And cocky," he says right into Dean's ear, before flicking the lobe with the tip of his tongue.

The fucker knows exactly what he's doing, but a quiet moan escapes Dean's lips nonetheless at the way that one word managed to sound so utterly filthy graveling in his ear. And then there's a thigh wedging between his own, and Dean practically _feels_ the last drops of his blood that weren't already there, rush to his cock.

Dean immediately grinds their hips together, and oh sweet Jesus is that good, especially when Cas lets out his own little moan at the friction, seemingly done with his criticisms for the moment. The man pulls Dean even tighter to him, practically guiding the movement of his hips, and Dean dives back in, eager for more of those not-kisses. He nearly loses himself in the sensations as Cas make delicious little sounds that Dean swallows as they try to stay quiet while they rock furiously together. He vaguely registers the rhythmic squeak of the shelf they're pushing against, and the shifting of the boxes.

Cas slides his palms around to grab handfuls of Dean's ass and squeeze urgently, possessively, and Dean's pretty sure he isn't going to last very long at this rate. With that thought, it occurs to him that this really isn't a good idea, because coming in your pants in the middle of the work day? No. He's debating whether it would still be worth it, when Cas pauses and croaks out a desperate, " _Dean_ ", clearly as worked up as Dean is. With a frustrated groan, Dean pulls completely out of Cas' reach and steps back, bending over to rest his hands on his knees and just breathe.

Cas makes an undignified sound at the loss, and Dean straightens back up, shaking his head.

"Too messy," Dean says quietly, gesturing at the erection that's tenting his pants obscenely now.

Cas practically scowls at being denied, but then his eyes start darting over the space they're in until they land on a few boxes of generic tissues, usually reserved for the common areas. Dean knows what he's thinking and panics briefly; it's one thing to make out and maybe dry hump, but it's a whole other when dicks get brought out. That's a level of personal he isn't quite sure he's ready to go there with, with the other man. Cas on the other hand, doesn't seem to hold such reservations and yanks a tissue box off the shelf and tears the cardboard open before setting the box within reach and starting for his belt.

Cas seems to sense Dean's hesitation, and levels an unusually concerned look on Dean, but keeps working at his pants as he speaks.

"I need to come, and I'm not leaving this room until I have. Feel free to join me or not, your choice," he says, pushing his now open pants down just past his hips.

Dean gawks at Cas' shamelessness, and barely even has time to register the fact that the man is wearing black boxer briefs, before they're being pulled down, too. And then there's Cas' cock springing free and Dean nearly winces at how uncomfortably hard it looks. He also notes that it's just as nice-looking as the rest of the man. It's not too thick, and long enough to do the job and then some, but not…intimidating.

"Now that you've gotten your eyeful, if you don't mind, I'm going to work on getting off," Cas says, taking himself in hand, and voice snapping Dean out of his daze.

Eyes flying up to meet Cas', Dean flushes as he takes in the fact that Cas is eyeing him darkly while he freakin' jerks off. Holy shit, the bastard even seems to enjoy that he's being watched. Dean is frozen to the spot, achingly hard, but scared to touch himself for fear of losing it as soon as he does. But he also can't bring himself to look away, either, mesmerized at the sight of Cas fisting himself slowly, dragging it out as if he has all day. Taunting Dean; inviting him.

"Looks like someone has a voyeurism kink," Cas murmurs, a smirk forming on his face.

He settles himself more firmly into the shelves for support and starts to stroke a little faster. When his thumb brushes over the head to spread the pre-come down his shaft that had beaded up, Dean's breath catches and he glances back up to the man's face. Cas' cheeks are flushed, and he lets out a shuddering breath before a grin pulls at his lips and he lets out a little laugh that's more breath than sound.

"That's fine though. Like I said, we all have our kinks," Cas says with a wink that makes blood rush to the tips of Dean's ears. "I just so happen to like the look on your face right now. And the fact that you're not touching yourself because you'd rather watch me?"

Cas breaks off with a moan and drops his chin to his chest as his hand speeds up a bit more. Dean's brain is quickly turning to mush at the overload because this is nothing like he'd expected when he decided to follow Cas in here. His assumptions were wrong, so incredibly wrong. He can't seem to find any words or figure out what to do besides watch, and wonders if maybe Cas is onto something. But who could blame him? The man is sexy as fuck, and Dean would probably pay good money on a porn site to watch something like this, except normally, Dean would have his dick out for such an occasion. He can't help but palm at his erection at the thought, needing at least some friction.

"Pull your cock out, Dean, I know you want to. Unless I was right," Cas says, a challenge in his voice. "Maybe you do like being left denied. Feel like you have to earn it, perhaps?"

Something about that snaps Dean's resolve, as the reality that he really might be left unsatisfied by this man for the third time, sinks in. He gets his belt undone and pants open in record time and is pleased by the look of surprise on Cas' face and the way his hand stills when Dean steps back into his space. Their eyes lock, and neither man looks away as Dean pulls his underwear down. He takes himself in hand and glances down between them, unapologetically guiding the head to drag teasingly from the head of Cas' dick, down the exposed length, and even over the back of the man's fingers where they're squeezing the base.

Cas gasps at the lewd gesture, eyes fluttering shut when sticky pre-come trails over the backs of his fingers, and moans. It's incredibly gratifying, so Dean does it again, this time letting out his own moan as he rubs their heads together with a touch more pressure, earning a full-body shudder from Cas. The man lets go of himself then, and brings his clean hand up to fist in Dean's shirt at his side, then pushes his hips forward, eyes still closed.

"Please," is the only word that comes out this time, when Cas speaks. His voice is wrecked and he looks oddly vulnerable, which does all kinds of things to Dean's insides that he doesn't care to think about.

Without hesitation, Dean spits in his palm and wraps his fingers around both their lengths, both men letting out a pleased sound at the contact. He thumbs over both their slits to spread the fluid and ease the way, and then starts a careful pace, until they're both leaking enough to repeat the action. Just like their previous encounter, Cas drops his head to rest on Dean's shoulder, and Dean is swept up in a moment of déjà vu. It doesn't last though, because then Cas' hips are rocking up into Dean's hand and the pace becomes brutal after that, the air thickening with panted breaths and quiet whimpers and grunts.

"Fuckin' hell, Cas," Dean groans a minute later, feeling the tell-tale burn starting in his gut. "'M close."

"Yeah," Cast breathes, nodding and looking up.

Dean isn't expecting the eye contact, and something about it does him in. He has to bite down harshly on his bottom lip to keep quiet as his orgasm pulses through him, come spurting and making for a slippery slide of his hand. For reasons he can't understand, neither of them seem to be able to look away, and Cas follows right after, a dry sob escaping his parted lips. Dean can only assume that his own face is reflecting the same look of astonishment that's on Cas', and he works them through it, swallowing harshly before finally feeling like he can look away. Of course he looks down, and the sight is so unexpectedly erotic that Dean experiences a small aftershock as another little dollop of come makes its way out.

Cas feels as much as sees it happen, and grunts his own reaction as a shiver zings up his spine. Dean doesn't let go for fear of letting all of that come drip everywhere and is grateful when Cas reaches over to grab a couple of tissues. Wordlessly, the man wipes up the fluid that's rolled over Dean's hand and then works his way up, until the majority of the mess is cleaned up, and Dean lets go. They still don't speak as they each clean up the rest of the way and make themselves presentable again. Now that it's over, it's pretty fucking awkward, and all that eye contact they'd been making earlier seems to be a thing of the past.

Dean busies himself gathering up the tissues and stuffing them carefully in his pocket and straightening the shelves as he tries to figure out what to say. He's pretty sure that 'thank you' is unacceptable, as would be 'that was fun', but someone needs to say _something_. He's surprised when he feels Cas draw close and stick something in his unoccupied pocket, fingertips dragging gratuitously against Dean's thigh and hip as he pulls his hand back out.

"Post-its," the man says simply, with a tiny smirk.

Dean snorts a laugh and thoughtlessly reaches up to smooth a wild tuft of Cas' hair that he didn't remember grabbing, but must have at some point. Cas goes stock-still under the attention, but doesn't stop him, so Dean goes with the flow and moves his hands down readjust the man's tie where it's slightly askew. Dean's always been a considerate lover, and isn't going to act otherwise, just because he and Cas share a general dislike for each other. He notices a small stray blob of come on the end of Cas' tie and automatically reaches back up to unknot it; how none of it got on either of their shirts, he'll never know. Dean can practically feel Cas' eyes burning into him, but doesn't dare look up as he loosens the silky material and pulls the clean end of the tie through Cas' collar, then rolls it up and stuffs it into the man's pocket.

When looking up becomes unavoidable, Dean glances up and is met with a slight frown of confusion, before Cas backs up a step and gives Dean a shrewd visual once-over, returning the favor. A single nod is all Dean gets as confirmation that his appearance passes muster, but he's grateful for the courtesy all the same. He clears his throat as the awkwardness floods back into the small space.

"We um…we didn't discuss the project," Dean says, internally facepalming at his own abruptness.

Cas grimaces slightly at the reminder of work, and it's almost as if his exhaustion sweeps right back over him, any semblance of an afterglow effectively snuffed. "I'll send Meg to retrieve your work, and if I have any questions I'll let you know, if that's okay with you."

It's an out if Dean's ever seen one, and he's flooded with relief that they're at least on the same page about this, that they both really need to go process what just happened by themselves for a minute.

"Yeah, sounds good," Dean nods, then turns and punches in the unlock code. He sticks his ear to the door crack, and noting that he can't hear anyone in the hallway, cautiously opens the door. The hallway is as empty as he expected, and he gestures hurriedly to Cas to follow him out before anyone comes through and notices them.

As soon as they're both out, Cas tears off toward the elevator bank as Dean had expected, and Dean goes the opposite direction toward the restroom to wash his hands and empty the tissues from his pocket. He's glad to see that the restroom is empty, because Dean just needs a damn minute to privately gather himself and make sure he doesn't look as obviously fucked out as he feels.

As soon as he looks in the mirror though, he loses hope and sighs. The regular employees he might pass probably wouldn't notice anything off, but Charlie will see it in an instant. Once his hands are clean and evidence is disposed of, Dean squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath, preparing for the no-doubt uncomfortable line of questioning he'll be facing when he gets back to his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, in case you didn't realize...Dean specialized in interrogations in his time in the military, which is why he picks up so much on people's thoughts/emotions. It's my own headcanon, that he would've studied micro expressions and body language, since I honestly have no clue what soldiers really are trained to do in such positions.


	8. The Downstairs Brain Strikes Again

"They're called cough drops," Meg says in reply to Castiel's frown, as he eyes the previously opened bag she tossed on his desk, along with the work from Dean.

"Thank you, I was unaware," he says dryly.

"Whatever, Clarence. They came from your boyfriend's desk, so I doubt they're poisoned or anything," she says casually.

"I don't have a boyfriend."

Infuriatingly, Meg just smirks and pats him on the shoulder before turning to exit his office.

Once he's alone again, Castiel sighs and stares at the bag. Why would Dean do that? Was it some sort of play to further the gossip by cluing Meg in? Or maybe it was some sort of juvenile mockery of the conversation about Castiel's health.

If he's honest though, the likely answer is much worse: Dean was just simply being nice. Castiel sighs and takes a cough drop from the bag, frowning deeper when it actually helps his throat. He needs infinitely more sleep before he can think about what they did with any sort of clarity.

 

***

 

Dean receives a brief 'thank you' email from Cas about the cough drops the next day, but the tone is even more politely professional than usual. Dean is glad for the acknowledgement, but he can't help but feel like it's a dismissal of sorts, and especially when he neither sees nor hears from Cas for the next three days. It doesn't necessarily feel good being avoided, but Dean makes a concerted effort not to think about it too much, because there could be any number of reasons for it.

Maybe Cas really is kind of a prude, and is embarrassed at his own behavior. Just as easily though, Cas could also be into casual sex, but is regretting doing so with a co-worker. Dean doubts that it has anything to do with the quality, because as a man that's had his own fair share of hookups, he can admit to himself that Monday's little…incident…was by far one of the hotter things he's experienced. There's also the possibility that maybe Cas just regrets doing anything with _Dean,_ but Dean doesn't let himself linger on that particular thought because it's a bit too depressing and he doesn't need that shit right now.

Instead, he lets Chuckles and Benny talk him into trivia night at the bar again, because it's Friday and he doesn't need another excuse. He doesn’t let himself think about the fact that he's feeling a bit dejected and instead focuses on talking with Charlie about their LARPing plans for the next day and stuffing himself with as many fifty-cent wings as humanly possible. Charlie's been suspiciously quiet all week on the subject of Dean and Castiel's thing, and Dean doesn't know whether to be concerned or grateful, but he damn well isn't going to be the one to bring anything up.

 

***

 

Monday morning, Castiel wakes up achingly hard for at least the fourth time in the last week, with the wisps of a dream that most certainly involved Dean, lingering as he comes into consciousness. Throwing the blankets off and sitting up, Castiel glares down at his erection.

"This is all your fault," he mutters at his own crotch. It doesn't shrink back at his words, because that's not how bodies work, but absurdly, he still feels a bit irritated that his dick is not intimidated.

It's not that Castiel regrets what he and Dean did, as far as the act goes. Hell, last week was the first time he'd had anything resembling sex since New Year's, when he'd ended up in a threesome with a man and a woman. Women may not be his cup of tea, but it worked out for all of them in the end, anyway, when it turned out that she was mostly interested in watching her boyfriend get thoroughly fucked into the mattress.

No, Castiel is plenty glad to have had the human contact after four months, and he'd be lying if he said he doesn't feel a physical draw to Dean Winchester. What's getting him, is the fact that he has no clue how he and Dean are supposed to interact now. It would be so much easier if Dean had just sniffed like some bro and left as soon as they were done, because then at least Castiel could just gloss over it and treat it as the casual thing it should've been. But no, the man just had to go and be all considerate and groom him and give him fucking cough drops, and looking back on it, Dean had also been unusually patient with Castiel's nagging.

In fact, it's actually kind of embarrassing, when Castiel looks back on his behavior that day. He realizes that maybe he was just exhausted enough to not exactly be thinking very clearly, and as such, had not maintained his own filters as well he normally would. Castiel has winced internally more than once over the past week, as he's thought about the fact that he may as well have said, 'You're actually not all bad, and the butt-hurt feelings between us are mostly my fault, but I have no idea how to apologize after so long, so I'm going to keep trying to act like an asshole because it's easier.'

And then what did Dean do? Refuse to give Castiel fodder. In fact, he'd seemed genuinely put out that Castiel had accused him of being unconcerned.

Dean Winchester is supposed to be a grumpy asshole, not whatever _that_ had been. And Castiel was supposed to have felt like they got the tension out of their systems and could just move along as if nothing had happened. Unfortunately though, the only thing Castiel feels is horny, confused, and somewhat guilty for having been so impersonal in his thank you email. But what could he do, besides be as neutral as possible?

It does nothing to help matters, when they end up making eye contact across the way in the lobby Tuesday morning, and Dean gives him a tentative little smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

 

***

 

Typically, Dean isn't all that picky about his lunch, as long as it contains meat and fills his stomach, so the cafeteria or lunch from home has become his standard. Today is Wednesday though, which means those horribly unhealthy spicy-cheesy-bacon fries with the awesome ranch dip are on special at the café nearby, so Dean decides to get out of the office for lunch.

The moment he walks in, he makes his perfunctory scan of the room as he looks for a table, and internally groans as he lays eyes on none other Castiel Novak. Before Dean can look away, Cas looks right at him, as if he just knew that Dean was going to be there, and Dean freezes on the spot. There's a long moment where neither man seems to be able to look away, before Cas breaks it by beckoning him with a short nod toward the empty seat across from himself, expression open.

As much as he hates to admit it, Dean's sort of relieved to get the invitation, even as another part of him wants to roll the fuck out and not have to experience what might end up as another disastrous lunch with Cas. After all, there's every chance that the man is about to tell him what a mistake it all was and tell Dean off, for all he knows. Still though, he's a grown ass man, and as such, knows that they can't just keep avoiding each other forever; at least they aren't in the office, where they'd have to guard their words more carefully.

"Hey Cas," Dean says, much softer than he intended, as he approaches the table.

"Hello, Dean. Have a seat," Cas gestures.

"Thanks. Um…kinda weird question here, but mind if we switch places?" Dean asks.

Predictably, Cas looks confused.

"I don't like having my back to the door," Dean mutters, glancing calculatedly around the restaurant.

"Of course," Cas nods, pushing his drink across the table. Apparently, he only just got there before Dean.

To Dean's surprise, there's no further commentary on the topic, and Cas doesn't seem bothered at all by the request. As soon as they're resettled and have placed their orders, awkward tension like no other falls over them, and for the first time ever, neither man seems to know what to say. They carry on like that for at least five minutes, before Dean finally has had enough.

"You know, it's okay if you want to pretend like nothing happened. I understand."

Cas frowns a little bit to himself and takes a sip of his water.

"I don't think that's been working out, so far. Or am I the only one that's had no clue how to handle this?" Cas asks, eyebrows raised. It's not quite an apology for his avoidance, but it's close enough. Dean must give his affirmative with his face, because Cas continues on, "Can we be frank for the next few minutes?"

"Yeah," Dean drawls, somewhat uncertainly.

"Thank you," Cas says, looking relieved. "So um…what are your thoughts on casual sex?"

The question is so blunt and personal, that a loud bark of surprised laughter makes it's way out of Dean's mouth before he can control the volume. "Jesus, Cas! Right to the point then, huh?"

"My job is literally to be efficient," Cas says dryly, eyebrow quirked.

"Right," Dean says, then clears his throat. "Well, I'm not opposed to it, but I don't really do it that much anymore. Not the last couple years."

 _Because I can't risk falling asleep and scaring the shit out of some stranger and possibly injuring them with my sleep-moshing if I have a night terror,_ he thinks, but doesn't dare add on.

Cas hums thoughtfully, stroking the sides of his glass just like last time they were here, but it's clearly an absent gesture at the moment. "Would you be interested in changing that?"

There's a slight blush on Cas' cheeks that contradicts the nonchalant tone, but his eyes are locked on Dean's; the man means business, and Dean swallows harshly. Still though…

"You know, I'm pretty sure that I should be offended right now. You've basically snubbed me for the past week, and now you're asking for seconds? May as well yell at the server and expect spit-free food."

Looking down at the table, Cas' blush deepens. "I wasn't trying to snub," he murmurs.

Their food arrives a few seconds later, and Dean digs right in, pulling out a hunk of cheese-fused fries and dipping them. "So what _was_ that then, hmmm?" he asks, before shoving the bite in his mouth.

Cas spoons up a bite of his soup, but then seems to notice the steam pouring off and puts the spoon back with a sigh. "I've never really hooked up with someone that I have…history with, that wasn't romantic in nature. I don't know how the 'afterward' is supposed to work with that kind of thing, okay?"

Dean feels something that he refuses to think of as a small flutter, that Cas would admit not only some of his personal history, but also one of his shortcomings, and have faith that Dean wasn't going to try and use it against him. 

"Okay, I get that," Dean concedes with a nod. "Not that I agree with your method, but," he trails off with a shrug as he reaches for his drink.

"Well why didn't _you_ bring it up, then?" Cas asks petulantly.

"Because _you,_ " Dean draws out the word, "were the one that made it weird, not me. I woulda played it cool all day long."

Cas scoffs, but doesn't comment. They seem to fall under silent agreement that the conversation is at a pausing point then, and turn their attentions to their meals. Dean takes the opportunity in the lull to do a mental risk assessment as he considers his answer to Cas' original question.

It takes surprisingly little time to come to a conclusion; they aren't friends, so no risk there. They aren't going to be working together much longer, either, so no real professional repercussions. And since it would be a regular thing, Dean could easily manage the whole avoiding sleep thing; not having to go to a bar and getting tipsy in the process would make all the difference. Plus the fact that well, Cas is insanely attractive, regardless of asshole tendencies.

"Okay," he blurts.

"Hmmm?"

"No, I mean _okay_ ," Dean says pointedly, pulling out his phone. "Here, put your number in."

Cas blinks slowly as he looks at Dean's phone, before taking it in hand. He doesn't look up as he types in his number, but a genuine smile spreads on his face that reminds Dean of his observation of the smile lines. Dammit, that's a good look on him. Once Cas hands the phone back, he sets to digging out his own and pushes it across the table, the smile morphing into something more salacious now that he's making eye contact.

The way Cas' eyes have darkened and turned predatory leaves no doubt in Dean's mind that Cas is already plotting the fun they'll be having, and he suppresses a shudder at the thought. Like hell is he going to get another Cas-induced erection in the middle of the day, in the same goddamned restaurant, so Dean locks away any remotely sexy thoughts as soon as they pop up. He briefly considers giving a little bit of payback, but decides against it because he doesn't doubt for an instant that Cas would up the ante in some way.

For whatever reason, they both seem satisfied to leave it at that for the time being, and finish up their lunches, seemingly unable to stop shooting each other sly smirks from time to time. They even manage to squeeze in a bit of business talk, and by the time they're walking out the door, Dean realizes with a small shock that they just made it through an entire hour around each other without a single jab. And although it was by far the most pleasant exchange they've experienced with each other, in some twisted way, it actually feels kind of wrong; incomplete, somehow.

They board the elevator once they get back to work, and both men turn to face each other once the doors close.

"What time do you think you'll want to call?" Cas asks.

"Uh, what makes you think _I'll_ be the one to call?" Dean shoots back, knowing full well that he's being ornery just for the sake of it.

"You're not as patient," Cas says slowly, as if reciting a well-known scientific fact that Dean should know.

"Challenge accepted."

Cas rolls his eyes and huffs. "Why would I be the one to call?"

Dean glances at the wall and sees that they just hit the third floor; two floors to go before Dean arrives at his own. Perfect.

Dean reaches out and palms at Cas' crotch, unconcerned for the fact that the man is soft when he does so and bites back a laugh at the way those blue eyes widen in surprise.

" _You're_ gonna call first, because by the time you get home, you'll have spent the last five hours thinking about what my mouth would look like stretched around your cock. Can I take you all the way down? Am I a tease? Do I swallow? Would I let you come on my face? Who knows? It's a mystery," Dean says, obnoxious grin in place and shrugging, hands held out at his sides.

The elevator stutters to a stop then, and Cas gives an impressive stink eye as the doors open to the fifth floor. "Dean Winchester, you are an asshole," he intones gravely.

"And water's wet, Novak," Dean says cheerily as he steps out of the elevator. He glances back once, pleased to see the glare still firmly in place and decides he may as well put the cherry on top and starts whistling a jaunty tune as he walks, hands stuffed in his pockets and fully aware that Cas can hear it before the doors close.

 

***

 

When Castiel had called Dean an asshole, at the time he'd meant it purely in the connotation of 'you're a stubborn, cocky bastard'. But by the time he is off of work and at home after having spent the last six or so hours thinking on and off about Dean's mouth, he's mentally calling the man an asshole for entirely different reasons. Still though, if Dean thought he was going to win this round, he is in for disappointment, because like hell would Castiel submit like that.

Stubborn as he may be, Castiel isn't a complete jerk though, and isn't going to just not contact Dean at all and let the man think he's being rejected. Two glasses of wine into his evening, Castiel is feeling relaxed, and as such, the effort he put into keeping his dick in the downward position all day has caught up with him. He's palming lazily at his crotch as an idea crosses his mind, that has a smirk forming on his lips.

Opening up his camera app, Castiel switches it to video and hits 'record' before he lays the phone on the end table next to him, camera down, so all that it picks up is sound. He doesn't say a word as he undoes his pants and pulls himself out, sighing at the contact as he wraps his fingers around his cock. At the moment he's only half-hard, but he knows it won't take long for that to change.

Castiel thinks about being a real son of a bitch and talking through what he's doing to himself, but figures that if his goal is to tease, then Dean will just have to be satisfied with what he gets. He does however, decide to boost the auditory experience, and pulls out a bottle of lube from the end table drawer, barely choking back a cackle as he flips the lid open and drizzles some in his palm.

 

***

 

It's a little before nine, when Dean's phone buzzes with a text message in his pocket while he's loading the dishwasher. Figuring that whoever it is can wait, he ignores it, but less than thirty seconds later, it buzzes again with another message.

"Jesus, Sam, impatient much?" Dean mutters to himself, putting soap in the little tray on the door. Once he has the timer set to run the load in a few hours, he pulls a beer out of the fridge and heads to the living room, pulling out his phone as he goes. He hadn't taken Cas to be the type to bother with texting, so he's surprised to see the messages are from him, and not Sam.

When he opens up the messaging screen, he sees that the first is a text that reads:

_You may want to use earphones_

And right underneath that is a message containing a video file, but the thumbnail is blurry. Curious as to what the hell it could be, Dean hunts down a pair of earbuds in the nightstand next to his bed and plugs them in as he sits down on the edge of the bed, beer forgotten in the living room. Opening up the file, he hits play and is confused for a few seconds, as the image is just a blur of motion, before it goes black. He starts to wonder if Cas accidentally sent him a pocket video, when he hears it: the distinct sound of a zipper lowering.

No. Surely not.

But then there's a sigh, followed seconds later by some clattering, and then another familiar sound, of what is either hand sanitizer or a bottle of lube being opened. Oh god…surely the man didn't…

Cas moans, low and pleased, and there is absolutely no doubt left as to what he could be doing. Dean stares in shock at the screen of his phone, unable to stop listening, as slick rhythmic sounds fill his ears, accompanied by gasps and throaty groans that are clearly genuine and not being played up. 

About the time the wet sound speeds up, Cas lets out a soft whine and mutters a 'shit' under his breath, ending on a shaky breath. Dean's cock is straining against his pants now, but he doesn't touch it; he doesn't want to miss a second of what he's hearing, and he can play it back again here in a minute if he wants to. It goes on like this for a couple more minutes, Cas' breaths coming out harsher, and all these little aborted noises happening in his throat, and occasionally the creak of what sounds like a couch cushion.

Just when Dean thinks it can't get any worse, the creaking noise starts to gain the same rhythm as the slick sound, and breathy curses start pouring out every few seconds. It's not difficult at all to imagine Cas, fucking his own fist and falling apart, and Dean realizes then that his own breathing is nearly as rough as Cas', even as he still refuses to pull himself out. There's a couple of extra harsh pants, and then a throaty groan and-

" _Fuck_ _!_ _I'm coming. Oh shit. Deeeeean_ ," Cas says, voice strained. As if it weren't clear enough that Cas just fucking came whining Dean's name, the wet sound gets obscenely louder as Cas works himself through it. It's all too much apparently, and suddenly Dean is being hauled over the edge and into his own orgasm, shocked as he feels his release painting the inside of his boxers.

As Dean tries to understand how he didn't notice the warning signs, the file plays on, but it's just the sound of Cas' ragged breaths as he comes down from his high; Dean's own breathing isn't much better. Then the screen suddenly moves, and there's Cas' face taking it up. The man's cheeks are flushed and his bottom lip is swollen from where he must have been biting down on it, and a sly smirk slides onto his face. Dean thinks it's over, but then Cas brings a come-covered hand up to his face and sucks his thumb clean, winking as he pulls his hand away and licks his lips. _Holy shit._

The screen jostles some more, and Dean hears the bastard chuckle just before the file ends.

Flopping back on the bed, Dean takes a deep breath and ignores the sticky mess in his pants, just needing a minute to grasp reality. As if he just knew, Dean's phone buzzes where it's still clutched in his hand with a new message from Cas.

_I told you I wouldn't be the one to call first ;)_

Oh, that little shit. And seriously? Castiel Novak uses emoticons? What even?

**You're such an asshole.**

_;D_

Dean can actually imagine the winking-cheesy grin-troll-face that the man probably really did make, and it's both irritating and…ugh…attractive. Dammit.

When the mess in his pants starts to become uncomfortable, Dean curses Cas out loud, and trudges to the bathroom to clean up. He can't even remember the last time he came untouched like that, and figures it has to have been at least fifteen years, but chalks it up to the fact that outside of last week, he hasn't gotten anywhere near laid since before Christmas.

Once he gets back out in the living room, he retrieves his now-sweating beer, and takes a good long pull, wondering what in the hell he's gotten himself into with Cas. Because audio porn? So not anything Dean would've imagined the other man doing, but if that's the man's version of teasing, then Dean is definitely not complaining.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any outstanding typos and such; I'm extremely tired, but wanted to get this out for you all. The next chapter will be quite a bit more...dun Dun DUHHHHHH. And it will be out within the next few days, too. I know right? Two chapters in one week...it's like the endtimes are upon us ;)


	9. When It Rains It Pours

When Meg buzzes him at his desk on Thursday afternoon and announces that Crowley is on the line, Castiel is only somewhat surprised. For one, it's been a few weeks since Crowley's called for a progress report on the campaign, and for another, Castiel is fairly sure that he and Dean's plan worked, because he's been getting far more curious looks from employees in the building than usual.

"Crowley," Castiel greets calmly as he picks up the phone.

"Hello, Castiel. If you have a moment, I need you to come to my office," Crowley says politely, if not a bit clipped. There's no mistaking that it isn't a request to be taken at Castiel's leisure.

"Of course. I didn't know you were here, today," Castiel says absently, already standing and reaching for his jacket.

"No time for chit-chat. See you in five," Crowley says shortly, and then hangs up.

Though he'd been waiting for this, Castiel feels an odd trepidation. It was obvious by Crowley's tone that he's not pleased, though Castiel can only imagine that he wouldn't be, and had in fact, planned on that. Still though, even with the plan seeming to finally come to fruition, it doesn't feel good to be in someone's bad graces.

By the time Castiel reaches Crowley's office, he's adopted a sufficiently neutral face, knowing that he needs to be able to feign surprise at being caught, when inevitably accused of the not-so-fake canoodling between he and Dean. It seems that Dean has a similar idea of what's going on, if his own brief glance as he walks in only seconds behind Castiel is anything to go by.

There are already two tumblers of amber liquid poured up on the other side of Crowley's desk, clearly meant for Dean and Castiel, but neither of them touches their glass as they take their seats. There is also no sign of a bodyguard.

"I suggest you take the glasses, you'll probably need them," Crowley drawls from his side of the desk.

Dean's brow furrows in genuine worry for a moment, probably from the possibility of getting fired, and he deigns to lean in and take the glass. Castiel feels a pang of guilt as it occurs to him that this is actually entirely possible, and takes his glass too. He and Dean may not have the best history, but Castiel would never wish for the other man to lose his job.

"Good. Now, onto business, we don't have time to waste," Crowley says seriously, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together over the desk. "Castiel, your brother was arrested about thirty minutes ago, for a video of an underage girl that appeared on his site. You and I both know that he wouldn't do that personally, considering he only touches the business side of the site anymore, but regardless, the site is technically his and it's fallen on his head."

This is so incredibly far from what Castiel expected, and it takes him a moment to process what's going on. Of course he's worried for Gabriel, but right now he's more curious about what this has to do with Crowley and himself and Dean, and how in the hell Crowley knows this to begin with. His confusion must show on his face, because Crowley rolls his eyes and huffs.

"Darling, Gabriel is _not_ the king, and hasn't been for a number of years. Rex has owned Casa Erotica since before you started here, and I'm sure you're aware of its success. Frankly, it's our second-most profitable subsidiary, and I have no intention of letting it crash and burn because of some imbecile that didn't check the content before posting it."

"What does this have to do with me?" Cas asks, straight to the point.

"You and your brother are both two of my greatest assets, and I protect what is mine. As of ten minutes ago, you are both facing deportation," Crowley says, eyes boring into Castiel.

"I don’t see how," Castiel says, and though he fully believes that, it doesn't erase the anxiety curling in his gut.

Crowley eyes him carefully for a moment, before taking a large gulp of his own drink and leaning back in his seat, looking irritated. "You really don't know?"

"Know what? What are you talking about?"

His heart is thumping harshly now, and a thin sheen of sweat is starting to form on the back of his neck.

"Good job on old Gabe for keeping up the façade," Crowley mutters to himself, then sighs heavily. "You're Canadian, Castiel. Well, technically, you're Russian, but that's neither here nor there. The point is, you have been an illegal immigrant here for oh, almost thirty years now."

"Bullshit," Castiel says. "I don’t know what you're playing at here, but I am not fucking Canadian."

Crowley makes a frustrated sound and pushes a folder on his desk toward Castiel.

"Read up, and make it snappy," Crowley barks.

Castiel doesn't mind when Dean gets up and crowds in to look over his shoulder as he opens the folder. The first page is a birth certificate for a child born on January 10, 1980, with the name Castiel Kostya Krushnic. Okay, so there's the first name, but the birthday listed is a little over a year before the one he's always known . The next page is a census form, detailing a household that appears to have a father and six children, with Castiel's name listed at the bottom, and Gabriel's name two spaces above his own. It's beyond creepy that every child has the name of an angel.

While it's starting to look more believable by the moment, Castiel is sorely tempted to throw the folder on the desk and march out and go home because there is no way that this is his life. It's just too much. But then he powers through and flips to the next page, and feels his blood run cold as he sees what is clearly a copy of a missing person flier, featuring a child that looks no older than four years old. There's no denying that it's him, the same dark hair and big eyes, and even Dean inhales sharply from above him.

"Cas," Dean says softly, lowering a gentle hand to his shoulder. Whatever state of disbelief he'd been suspended in seems to break with that, and panic swells in his chest as he sucks in a harsh breath. Morbidly, he decides to flip to the next page and finds a matching poster, but this time with Gabriel's much younger face on it. The page after that is a copy of a newspaper article, something about the Krushnic Family in the headline, but he can't get his eyes to focus on it, too dizzy and confused.

He doesn't realize he's hyperventilating, until Dean is pulling him out of his chair and down to the floor with him and into a tight embrace, chest to chest.

"Breathe with me, Cas," Dean says firmly, taking a slow calm breath. "Come on dude, don't pass out on me."

Dean finds one of Castiel's hands and pulls it up and around to rest in the middle of Dean's back.

"Feel that?" Dean asks on a slow exhale. "Breathe when I breathe."

Castiel follows the order without question, trying his best to calm down. He lets himself focus on the movement of Dean's muscles under his hand, the sound of his breath next to his ear, and tries his best to match it. He absently notes Crowley huffing impatiently off to the side, but ignores it in favor of dealing with his own shit for a moment. After a long minute or two, the world starts to come back into focus again, and he feels Dean's hand run soothingly against his spine.

"There we go, nice and easy," Dean murmurs. After a few more seconds, he pulls back and all but bodily hauls Castiel up to deposit him back into his chair, and seeing that Castiel is okay, stomps over to the side of Crowley's desk.

"What the fuck is going on, man?" Dean demands, no concern for chain of command to be found at the moment.

"Sit down, Winchester," Crowley growls, then looks at Castiel. "I told you to take that drink," he scolds.

Now that his breathing is back under control, Castiel's stomach rolls with nausea from the overflow of adrenaline moments before; the last thing he can fathom right now is alcohol. Dean scowls at Crowley, but goes back to his chair anyway, glancing at Castiel every few seconds as if to make sure he hasn't passed out.

"That was part one of this debacle. Are you ready for part two, or do I need to get an ambulance on standby for your delicate senses?" Crowley asks.

The insult flies all over Castiel, and the nausea burns away into something more volatile as he snaps his eyes over to Crowley. He may be in a slight state of shock, but he'd rather get it over with now, so he can go home and freak out by himself.

"Considering you seem to believe me now, I'm sure you understand how much trouble you and Gabriel both stand to be in. This is why time is of the essence, and action must be taken before you're hauled in for questioning as to the part you may have played in this fabrication. They absolutely will not hesitate to deport you in order to play on your brother's concern for you," Crowley says.

"What can I do?" Castiel asks. "Gabriel already has a lawyer on retainer, and- oh god, I need to call mine," he realizes as he shoots out of his chair, hand already going to his pocket to retrieve his phone.

"I wouldn't suggest that, if you're going to get away with this," Crowley says, a bit too lightly to the point of nearly amused.

Dean, bless him, seems to be seeing something obvious that Castiel's traumatized brain simply isn't grasping at the moment.

"Why do you give a shit, Crowley? What's your part in all of this, huh? What's in it for you?" Dean asks.

"As I said, I protect my investments," Crowley hisses. "Now I suggest you both listen closely. This campaign is going to continue as planned, and no, you are most definitely NOT off the hook, Castiel. I know what you two have been doing, and while I applaud your effort, I'm afraid I have to inform you that it has backfired in the most fantastic way. Now tell me something. How strongly do you feel about _not_ being shipped off to moose territory and getting cozy with a large man named Bud?"

"Cut the shit, Crowley. What are you thinking?" Dean snaps.

"You two are going to leave my office in a few minutes, go home, gather enough things for a comfortable weekend trip, and then you're off to elope in Wine Country. I've been kind enough to-"

"The fuck we are!" Castiel cuts him off. "I can't even begin to name all of the things wrong with that."

"Damn straight," Dean spits, crossing his arms over his chest, glaring what would be a considerable hole in Crowley's forehead, if it were possible.

Crowley shoots out of his chair, face going red, and stalks over to stand in front of the other two men. "Listen here, you little shit. This is bigger than you, and believe me when I say that this is the simplest solution at the moment."

"No. Find another way," Dean says firmly.

Face returning to normal color, Crowley's eyes go disconcertingly sharp and a smirk rises on his lips.

"Very well then. I suppose Sam doesn't need that spot in the internship program. Or the grant I was going to authorize that would subsidize his living expenses while he gains his experience."

Dean's jaw clenches at that, but otherwise he doesn't budge a muscle. "Not worried about that. Sam'll be fine without the grant, and the internship was included in the contract when I re-signed after the new rate of pay terms."

"Ah, but I sense that you didn't read the fine print, or you wouldn't be so smug right now, little soldier," Crowley says, victory flashing in his eyes. He then turns and picks up another folder and pulls out a sheaf of papers, thumbing through until he finds the page he's looking for. "And here we have the sub-clauses," he says, almost gleefully, as he hands Dean the papers.

Yanking the papers from Crowley's hands, Dean begins scanning down the page, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He thumbs to the previous page, then back to where he was, and Castiel knows the moment that Dean discovers the truth when the color rises on his cheeks in anger. Dean flips to the last page, and confirms it all when he sees his own signature on the last line. He closes the folder, takes a deep breath, and considerably more composed, looks up to Crowley.

"And what if I still say no?"

"I don’t think you want to do that, Dean. You shouldn't underestimate my ability to ruin your life in two phone calls or less. You know as well as I do, that you belong in prison, not out and about in the civilian life. Oh, some of the things you did over there, especially the spring of 2007, they make me blush," Crowley purrs. "Good thing you've adjusted so well since you've come back," he says sarcastically.

Every muscle in Dean's body seems to be pulled taut, and Castiel can see where a fine tremor has taken over his fingers where they rest against his ribs. Somehow, they've both gone from normal citizens to facing imprisonment in less than an hour, and it's becoming clear that for now, Crowley holds all the cards.

"Crowley, I'd like to have a word with Dean alone, please," Castiel says seriously.

Visibly brightening, Crowley drains the contents of his glass and sticks his hands in his pockets as he pushes away from the desk. "Ten minutes, ladies," he says airily, then walks out of his own office, shutting the door behind himself.

Neither man says anything for a moment, nor looks at the other. Castiel is mostly just waiting for the wrath that Dean will rain upon him, and he wouldn't blame him; if it weren't for Castiel's fucked up history, Dean wouldn't be in this position. So when Dean speaks, Castiel can't help the way his eyebrows climb in surprise.

"I know you don't wanna do this, but I think we're out of options here, Cas," Dean says tiredly. "I don't want to go to prison, but I could survive it. You though…and don't take this the wrong way, but you're just not cut out for it, man."

"I'm not sure how that _isn't_ an insinuation about my ability to look after myself, and I'm sure I'll be pissed off about it later, but right now we have other things to deal with. Like the fact that I'm going to call my lawyer while I have a moment."

Dean doesn't try to stop him, so Castiel pulls out his phone and swipes through the contacts until he has his lawyer pulled up and hits send, putting it on speaker so Dean can hear as well. The line rings three times, and when it picks up, there's an odd clicking sound, but Castiel ignores it. Dean however, doesn't seem so inclined and yanks the phone out of his hand, ending the call before a word could be said.

"Your phone's fucking tapped," Dean explains, handing the phone back over. "Which means mine probably is too, now."

He growls a frustrated sound and stalks over to the desk, picking up his drink and tossing it back.

"We're fucked, Cas."

Castiel scrubs a hand over his face, rubbing harshly at his forehead with the heel of his palm before running it through his hair.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I know we have our differences, but I'd never wish to put you in this position," he says earnestly. "You don’t deserve to get pulled into this, and I'm just…I'm sorry."

Dean shakes his head in rejection of the apology and reaches for Castiel's untouched drink, downing it too, now.

"You didn't know," he says, voice rough from the burn of the alcohol. He sighs heavily, but doesn't offer anything else.

Castiel glances at the clock and sees that they have about three minutes left before Crowley will return.

"I don't understand how he thinks this will stand up legally," Castiel frowns. "The marriage wouldn't even be considered binding unless we have a marriage license already applied for, signed, and filed, which we don't. Then there's the fact that when immigration catches up to us, they'll drill us for information when they see how much this stinks, and we don't know the first thing about each other. I don't even know what Crowley thinks is so valuable about me…there are any number of people just as qualified as myself that could hold my position here. And never mind the fact of the obvious timing, and the countless witnesses that have seen us at each other's throats," Castiel rationalizes.

Dean laughs hollowly. "You think the bastard hasn't thought all this through? I guaran-fucking-tee you he's got all the paperwork filed already, backdated, and complete with 'our' signatures. And the worst part is, he's goddamn right about the backfire; do you _know_ what the rumors have been saying? Half the freakin' office thinks we're already together," he says, nearly shouting. Then he barks another laugh, that somehow ends up turning into a groan. "It's plausible, and it's our own fucking fault."

Well shit. Castiel can't really argue that.

"I'm sorry," he says again, not really sure what else he can say.

Turning sharply at that, Dean steps right into his space and pokes a finger at Castiel's chest.

"Stop it. I don’t wanna hear that, or I'm gonna get pissed off all over again," he says.

"I thought you were already pissed," Castiel blurts.

"I am, but not at you. Not right now, anyway, but that's always subject to change."

Castiel can't help but roll his eyes at that. "Good to know," he says dryly.

Oddly, the corner of Dean's mouth twitches, as if suppressing a grin at that, but it points downward in a frown again only a moment later.

"So, are we doin' this?" Dean asks tiredly.

"Can you think of a better option at the moment?" Castiel asks in turn.

"No, not really," Dean admits, shaking his head. "Not until I can get more information."

"Then I suppose we're getting married," Castiel says resignedly, the word feeling strange on his tongue, even as he says it. "At least until we can do some research."

"Guess so," Dean mutters, looking defeated now, as if just saying the words make it all somehow more real.

"Look, I know it's a bad situation, but you don't have to look quite so devastated," Castiel ribs, trying to bring some lightness. "I'm not all bad."

"I know," Dean says, seeming to realize his confession the moment it slips out. Surprisingly, he doesn't take it back, though. "Just don't take kindly to being fucking blackmailed."

Crowley chooses that moment to saunter in, and glances meaningfully between the two of them.

"All set?" he asks, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Dean sighs, and Castiel nods wordlessly.

"Good. You boys head on then and get ready. You're going to enjoy a nice little honeymoon in my own private cottage this weekend, so pack accordingly for a spa. A car will come to collect _you_ ," Crowley says to Castiel, "at half past four to take you to Dean's, and then will take the both you on out. And I wouldn't advise trying to sneak away in the in-between," he says darkly to the both of them.

"Uh, if I'm gonna be stuck going to fucking Wine Country- which by the way, I would _never_ do on my own- I'm driving my own car, and you can shove it up your ass if you think it's happening any other way," Dean interjects.

Rolling his eyes, Crowley shrugs. "If you insist. But don't think for a moment that you won't be tailed."

"Whatever makes you sleep better," Dean grins sarcastically.

Crowley shoots him an unimpressed look before going to his desk and opening a drawer and pulling out two jewelry boxes. He opens them both up, inspecting them briefly before handing one to each of them.

"The size was a guess. Castiel, Meg has been briefed and will be accompanying you to your house to give you the details of how all of this will work. You can fill your fiancé in on the way to the spa," Crowley says, smirking around the word 'fiancé'. "I suggest you both take a moment to collect yourselves before you leave this room. You're going to be the talk of the office come Monday, and it wouldn't do for everyone to see you looking like you're walking down Death Row on your way out. Do what you have to do to make it believable until you get home."

Crowley then pulls his cell phone out and places a call as he walks to the back of the room and opens a door, stepping inside what Dean can only assume is a private bathroom.

Castiel is zoned into the pattern on the rug, mind whirling a thousand miles an hour with the overload of information. He startles when Dean touches his shoulder, and by the look on his face, Dean must have been trying to get his attention for a while.

"Look, you can't do that yet, alright? Feel free to freak out all you want once we get out of here, but right now, we gotta go out there and put on a show for a minute," Dean says, eyes demanding Castiel's own to look at him.

Castiel nods and takes a deep breath. He only needs to pass for normal for ten minutes more at the most; he can do this.

"I think I'm going to get drunk tonight," Castiel mutters.

Dean grins a bit at that. "I'll probably be joining you."

Castiel returns his grin for a moment, before it falls back into a frown. "How are we supposed to act out there? Literally, how are we playing this?" he asks, with a tilt of his head toward the door.

"I dunno. Guess we should just act like we always do. Seems to have worked so far," Dean shrugs, a small blush rising on his cheeks.

It's as good a plan as any, so Castiel nods. "Let's get this over with," he says, then turns to walk out.

Dean follows behind him, and they both nod politely to Crowley's receptionist on their way out toward the elevator. Neither of them really smiles, but they're both careful to keep their faces sort of relaxed. The elevator is empty when they get on, but they only make it one floor down before it stops, and five people crowd in, and Castiel ends up with his back only scant inches from Dean's chest. His first impulse is to put space between them and he makes an attempt at doing as much, but it's fairly fruitless in the crowded space without ending up in some stranger's space. Dean huffs quietly behind him and stills Castiel's nervous shifting by placing his hands on Castiel's hips and giving a little warning squeeze.

The touch is unexpected and intimate, and Castiel can't help but go stiff as a board. He knows he's supposed to look at least somewhat pleased, but he can't seem to control his anxious frown as a couple of the passengers glance curiously at him. Dean choses this moment to lean closer and whisper, just barely loud enough for Castiel to hear.

"You look constipated. Just try and relax a little."

Castiel turns his head to glare at Dean, irritated when he sees the hint of amusement glinting in Dean's eyes. He turns back to face forward, electing not to respond. A few seconds later, Dean leans again, and Castiel barely refrains from growling a 'WHAT'.

"If you can be good and stop scowling, I might suck you off later tonight," Dean whispers, lips brushing his ear and giving Castiel's hips a more pointed squeeze this time.

A small gasp escapes Castiel's lips before he can quite stop it, and Dean barely manages to lean back quickly enough to avoid their heads knocking when Castiel whips his head around to look at him. Dean- the fucker- just chuckles lowly, a toothy smile spreading on his face. Castiel knows it was likely a distraction tactic, but damned if it didn't work; if nothing else, by employing the element of surprise.

Still though, he can't seem to help but want to ruffle Dean back, and turns back around, sliding a hand subtly behind himself to graze his fingers against Dean's crotch. He relishes the little intake of breath next to his ear and doesn't bother to temper the smirk on his face as he pulls his hand back to his front. Seconds later, the elevator stops on Castiel's floor, and he turns to give Dean a cheeky wink before exiting the elevator with a couple of other people.

The moment of amusement is short-lived, dissipating the moment he lays eyes on Meg and remembers himself. To her credit, Meg looks genuinely sympathetic, but that isn't what Castiel wants right now.

"Everything's in order, boss," she says, lifting a meaningful brow.

"Thank you, Meg. You can head out early if you'd like; I'm heading out, myself. Just came to get my things and shut everything down," he says, casual as you please. There are still people within earshot of Meg's desk, after all.

"Aye aye, Captain," she says with a little salute, reaching for her purse.

When Castiel gets inside his office, a piece of scrap paper is lying on his desk, folded in half. All it says is _See you there_ , written in Meg's tidy handwriting. In a moment of paranoia, he pockets the note instead of throwing it away, shuts down his workspace, and gathers his briefcase. The moment he walks out of this building, he'll be forced to face this situation head-on, and Castiel wishes desperately that he had something to do to put it off.

 

***

 

Not that Dean really had all that much doubt that Crowley had meant it when he said he'd keep a tail on them, but it still pisses him off when he notes the white SUV following at a respectable distance behind him. When he pulls up to his apartment, the SUV cruises on by as if nothing is out of the ordinary, but then Dean looks over and sees a dark blue one already parked nearby, and the driver doesn't even try to hide the fact that he's watching Dean.

He'd love nothing more than to stomp over and punch the smug look off the guy's face and maybe smash his face against the steering wheel, but knows it would accomplish exactly nothing. So instead, he slams the door closed to his own car and stomps up the steps to his side of the duplex he lives in.

When Dean gets inside, he lets himself expel a loud, frustrated growl at the shitstorm that has become his life this afternoon, kicking pointlessly at the side of the couch just because he can. He isn't mad at Cas, and had meant it when he'd told the man as much. It's not even the marriage thing that's grinding his gears, because that's just words on paper, and can be undone at any time. It's the fact that not only is Crowley privy to a part of Dean's life that he'd thought he'd escaped and still doesn't like to think about, but the fucker is using it against him.

His thoughts edging too close toward dark places, Dean shakes his head and stalks off to his bedroom. Frankly, he needs the distraction, because if he lets his mind wander down that road, there's a startlingly high chance that he could have another mental break, and he can't afford that right now. Not when it's not just his own life, but Cas and to some extent, Sam's on the line.

Pulling out a suitcase that he honestly can't remember having used since high school, Dean lugs it to his closet and takes a look at what he has. If he's supposed to blend in at a spa in freakin' Wine Country, his wardrobe isn't going to be much help; he's pretty sure that most of the clientele there are going to be much more fashionable than Dean has ever given a shit about being.

 _Fuck it, not my problem Crowley chose the least likely place I'd go_ , Dean thinks to himself.

Still though, he makes an effort to pack his nicest outfit for whatever bullshit wedding ceremony Crowley has no doubt waiting for them, figuring he can at least try and make the pictures look believable. Cas was right; Immigration will most certainly come sniffing around, and if they want to keep their cover, they've gotta do this right from here on out. Normal people have pictures from their weddings, and it wouldn't help their case at all if he looks rumpled and careless on what's supposed to look like a happy day.

He's only just moved to the dresser to start hunting down underwear and sleepwear, when there's a knock at the door. Glancing at his alarm clock, he sees that it's only twenty minutes to five, and is surprised to realize that apparently, Cas only lives ten minutes away from him. When he gets to the door, Meg barrels through as soon as the door is open, and Cas frowns at her back before looking apologetically to Dean.

"Come on in, Meg, make yourself at home," Dean says sarcastically, but she's already most of the way to his room and flipping him off over her shoulder. Well, then. He steps aside, giving Cas room to come inside like a normal human being, and Cas nods somberly as he crosses the threshold.

"God, you suck at packing," Meg's voice floats down the hall, and Dean's lips curl in a snarl.

"Fuckin' rude," Dean mutters, before stomping off toward the hall, only slightly annoyed that Cas is right on his heels. It feels too strange seeing the man in his private space, but he lets it go because he supposes he'd better get used to it; they're going to be sharing a living space for the weekend, after all.

When they get in Dean's room, Meg is holding up Dean's swim trunks and pulling a face as she looks at them.

"Dude! You don't just go through someone's dresser! I don't even know you," Dean says, snatching the garment from Meg's hands and glaring at her.

Meg fixes him with smirk. "Calm down, hoss. I'm just making sure you have a better idea of how to pack for a vacation than Clarence. Which you don't, by the way. And you can't take those," she says, pointing at the shorts in Dean's hand.

"Why the hell not?" Dean asks, hand clenching around the material.

Meg scoffs as she refolds a t-shirt that Dean had mostly just tossed into the bag. "Because where you're going, people don't go to the pool looking like they're headed to a frat house pool party."

Dean's mouth opens in protest, and he looks to Cas, putting as much 'can you believe this shit?' into his expression as possible. Cas looks like he's biting back a grin and shakes his head, as if to say that he's not getting between Dean and Meg on this.

Instead of arguing the point though, Dean crouches down in front of his dresser and starts pulling out sleep clothes and underwear, as well as a few of his t-shirts that are in better shape. With Cas off to the side, flipping through Dean's vinyl collection as if he has every right, and Meg digging through his closet, Dean is starting to feel a little too exposed and straightens up.

"Okay, enough! Everybody out! I'm packing my own shit, and I'll be out in a minute. Go…watch TV or something. Can't think with everyone up in my shit like this," he snaps.

Cas walks out without a word, frown pinching at his eyebrows, but he doesn't look offended. Meg gives him an unimpressed look and puts her hands on her hips in some sort of challenge.

"Oh, you really don't want to start with me today, sweetheart," Dean says with a bitter smile. "Now get the fuck out," he growls, pointing at the door.

"Your boyfriend's an asshole, Clarence," she says loudly enough to carry down the hall.

Dean and Cas both give matching "He's not my boyfriend" replies, and Meg just smirks before sauntering out of Dean's room.

Taking a moment to just breathe, Dean scrubs a hand over his face once he's alone. He can hear Meg talking to Cas, who is responding in what Dean has come to identify as Cas' business-voice. He doesn't bother trying to hear what they're saying, knowing that he'll probably hear it from Cas once they're in the car. He finishes packing efficiently, and doesn't bother changing out of his work clothes, since he'll probably just have to change again for whatever reason once they reach the spa.

He sits on the side of his bed procrastinating for a few minutes once he's done, until a light knock at the doorframe gets his attention.

"We'd probably better get going, if you're ready," Cas says, looking about as thrilled as Dean is.

Dean shakes his head and sighs, pushing himself up off the bed.

"No, not really," Dean mutters to himself, but gathers his bag all the same, and heads out toward the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So from here on out, we're just going to pretend that immigration laws work this way because fake!married, okay? This is my little universe, so I'm honestly not all that worried about legal accuracy. Shhh...just go with it, and enjoy the co-habitation that's about to go down :)


	10. Time for a Drink

It's been a mere five minutes on the road, but the tension radiating off of Dean is almost suffocating, to the point that Cas cracks his window down a few inches, as if it would relieve the pressure somehow.

"We can turn the A/C up if you want," Dean asks, eyes trained on the traffic he's navigating.

"No, just needed some fresh air," Cas replies.

Dean nods and offers nothing else on the topic. The tension reduces only slightly, as Cas realizes that Dean must not be too angry with him, or he wouldn't have offered to make him more comfortable. Still though, something needs to give, so Cas reaches for the stereo, only to have his hand smacked away and a stern look sent his way.

"Don’t touch unless you intend on picking something from box," Dean says, gesturing at the floorboard, where his tape collection is resting.

Cas sighs and sits back, not even bothering to look at the box; he really doesn't give a shit about the music, it was just something to do. And right now, he doesn't feel like having to make a decision on anything, either.

"I knew you were stubborn, but are you really gonna deprive yourself of tunage just to spite me?" Dean asks, a humorless smirk on his face.

"It's not spite, Dean. I just don't know how to approach conversation with you when you're like this," Cas admits.

"Never had a problem knowing what to say before," Dean says petulantly.

Cas leans his head back on the headrest and closes his eyes, rubbing his temples. Up until now, Dean had been surprisingly cooperative today, but he'd known that it wouldn't necessarily stay that way.

"Dean, I understand that you're stressed out, and I'm sorry that you've been dragged into this, I truly am. But for the sake of each of our survival, can we just treat each other like normal human beings for once? At least through the weekend."

There's a beat of silence before Cas hears a long drawn-out sigh next to him, and the sound of leather squeaking as Dean readjusts his posture. He's a bit relieved when he cracks an eye open and sees that Dean is no longer white knuckling the steering wheel or sitting ramrod straight in his seat. His jaw is still ticking, but at least he's making an effort to calm down.

"Do we have any stops to make?" Dean asks.

The abrupt change to getting down to business is a relief in itself, and Cas can't find it in himself be bothered by the fact that Dean didn't respond to what he'd said.

"Nothing official. Just whatever stops we'd need to make for gas and dinner," Cas replies.

"Drive-thru okay with you? If we go inside anywhere, those asshats'll follow us inside, and I'm not a fan of being watched like that," Dean says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

Cas starts to turn around, but Dean shoots a hand out to land on his forearm.

"Don’t, it'll look like we're conspiring or something, and I don't want to make all this any worse. Just trust me when I say we're being tailed by three different vehicles and probably will be 'til we get to the place," Dean says, letting his hand drop.

"Fast food is fine, then," Cas says, letting himself slouch down in the seat. "I'm not really hungry, anyway."

Dean glances over, and Cas pretends not to notice the concern on his face, fiddling with the end of his tie, instead.

 

***

 

Between horrendous traffic and having to take a small detour due to some roadwork, it's a little after nine in the evening when they finally arrive at their destination. Both men are pleasantly surprised to find that it isn't some lavish resort so much as a gated community of cabins settled over a spread of land, with a large building in the center that could only be the actual spa facility.

Dean had eventually thawed out on the drive once he had food in his stomach, and Cas had taken advantage of it to go ahead and lay out the details of how their weekend would be expected to go, according to what Meg had told him.

To Dean's relief and confusion, Cas had held up his end and spoke with minimal snark, though he suspects now that that's simply a quirk of Cas' personality and not necessarily something aimed solely at Dean. That's okay though; after so many years of sass from every corner of his blood and self-adopted families, Dean is well-accustomed to it. As he considers this, Dean has a blip of a thought that Cas would likely fit right in with his family, but shuts that line down as fast as it appeared, because right now Dean is not up for considering the real-life repercussions of this whole thing.

No, right now, Dean is in soldier mode, focused on his mission. Make it to the spa in one piece: check. Get as much information as possible about this weekend from Cas: check. Drink alcohol in order to avoid thinking about how his life is about to get turned upside down: in progress. And tomorrow, he'll resume his mission, by getting up and getting ready, putting on a show of smiling and pretending that he and Cas are so in love that they just _had_ to whisk themselves away to elope…

Something unpleasant settles in Dean's gut at that, so he polishes off the rest of his glass of scotch and immediately pours another. If he's feeling things, then he clearly hasn't had enough to drink. This is the opposite of the best time to think about his own bullshit, when there's so much on the line for both himself and Cas. If anything, he should feel grateful that this particular mission doesn't call for bloodshed. Because in perspective, what's the manufacturing of a life, compared to taking one?

"There's only one bedroom," Cas announces as he re-enters the kitchen from his exploration of the cabin, "But it has a king size bed, so we should be able to share easily."

Dean takes a swig of his drink. "Don’t worry about it. I'll take the couch."

Cas' eyes narrow as his face scrunches up in confusion. "You were willing to fuck me, but sleeping with three feet between us is too intimate?" he asks slowly, tone curious more so than accusatory.

"You don't want to sleep next to me, man," Dean replies, shaking his head. "Calling me an active sleeper would be an understatement."

Cas radiates skepticism, but considering that the only dishonesty on Dean's part was through omission, Dean figures his face must reflect the truth of it easily enough. After a moment, the skepticism melts into a thoughtful frown as Cas tilts his head.

"While that may be so, you do realize that we're facing a likely intensive round of interviews from Immigration that will require us to know a lot of personal details about each other. They won't stop at asking first date questions…they'll want to know about our daily habits, as well. Things that can't just be covered by fact sharing," Cas says, speaking as he begins to look through the cabinets.

"Where are you going with this?" Dean asks, scooting aside when Cas nudges his arm in a silent request.

A quiet little victorious sound precedes Cas pulling back from the cabinet with a wine glass in hand. He squats down to open the wine chiller, pulling a bottle out partway to look at its label before shoving it back in and repeating the process on another.

"Dean, we have exactly the rest of this weekend to figure out how to fake a marriage well enough that a stranger would buy it. In order to do that, it's going to require us," Cas pauses, having found an acceptable bottle of wine and stands up, "what was I…? Oh. But if we're going to pull this off, we're going to have to get more comfortable with sharing space together for more than a random grope here and there."

The last part is said almost cautiously, and Dean watches as Cas now rummages around in a drawer for a corkscrew. Anyone else would simply have been watching a man talking as he prepares to get his drink on, but Dean can see the stiffness of Cas' shoulders, and the jerkiness of his hands; to his credit, Cas hides it fairly well, but the fact remains that he's tense about the subject. Clearly, Dean isn't the only one that's uncomfortable with having to share personal information, and it makes him feel a little better that he isn't alone in this.

And Dean can see the logic in what Cas is saying, but he really has no desire to risk beating the man up in his sleep, much less have yet another witness to his nocturnal craziness. He watches quietly while Cas drains an entire glass of wine before reaching for the bottle and pouring up another. Yeah, Dean definitely isn't the only one feeling the strain.

"I have an idea," Dean says, stepping into Cas' space. "Put your glass down for a sec."

The glass gets set down, but not without an incredulous look shot Dean's way, when Dean's hand reaches out to wrap around Cas' bicep, tugging a bit in a request for Cas to face him.

"Let's start easy. C'mere," Dean says, pulling Cas close. Surprisingly, Cas goes easily with the movement, though his eyes are darting from Dean's eyes to his mouth and then back again, a question swimming in those deep blue eyes.

"Just a hug, Cas. Think you can do that?"

Cas scoffs and rolls his eyes, but closes the space between them anyway. Dean's surprised for a moment that Cas chooses to go with the 'around the waist' position, but he doesn't mind and just pulls the man even closer to him, arms winding around Cas' shoulders. Truthfully, it's a bit awkward, as Cas seems to be holding back and simply holding the position but not actually hugging.

"Come on Cas, you gotta relax into it. Embrace the hug," Dean grins, leaning the side of his head into Cas' to further his point.

"That's…redundant," Cas mutters, but leans a little bit more of his weight into Dean.

"It was a joke, dude," Dean says dryly. Absently, he smoothes a palm over Cas' spine, and doesn't miss the little sigh the man breathes next to his ear as he finally melts into Dean.

Tentatively, one of Cas' hands starts to return the gesture, but only moves for a moment until he settles on simply rubbing a thumb back and forth over one of Dean's ribs.

"This is nice," Cas murmurs after several seconds, sounding a bit surprised.

"What? You think I'd give shitty hugs or something?"

"No, nothing like that. It's just been a long time. Forgot how nice it is," Cas says honestly.

Dean's arms tighten around the man involuntarily, before he pulls back a little so that they're face to face. He doesn't know quite who moves first, but a moment later, his lips are on Cas' and they're kissing, close-mouthed and chaste, making his stomach swoop in a way that Dean isn't prepared for. It only lasts a couple of seconds, and when they pull apart, Dean can see the moment Cas closes off as he realizes what they'd just done, because that was definitely not like the few kisses they've shared before.

Clearing his throat, Cas steps back and reaches for his wine glass, before thinking better of it and dropping his hand.

"I'm…going to go put my things away," he says, a bit awkwardly, then strides off toward what Dean assumes is the bedroom; he hasn't bothered looking around yet.

After the day they've had, Dean would love nothing more than to park his ass on the couch for several more drinks, but there's something more important he needs to do first. Just like he did at work, Dean takes the next several minutes going over the place, looking for hidden cameras and mics, as well as checking out the locks on the windows and doors in every room.

"Find anything?" Cas asks, suddenly right below Dean, where he's standing on a chair as he re-attaches a light fixture over the kitchen table.

Dean startles and only has a moment to panic as he feels the chair wobble, before two strong hands are gripping his hips and steadying him.

"Sorry, I thought you heard me walk in," Cas says, letting go.

Letting out a deep breath of relief, Dean climbs down, though his legs are a bit shaky.

"You are one quiet bastard, you know that?" Dean says, but there's no heat in his words. "But no, haven't found anything. Just gotta check the bedroom, but otherwise, it's all good."

"Well, you do that, and I'm going to bring the booze in the living room, if you'd like to get at least partially drunk with me," Cas says, already grabbing up the bottles and glasses. Whatever discomfort the impromptu smooch had caused, Cas seems to be over it, so Dean relaxes a bit and gives an affirmative before heading toward the bedroom.

Cas takes his armful to the living area and sets it all down carefully on an end table before plopping down on the couch and taking off his tie, tossing it carelessly on the floor. He hears some vague movements in the direction of the bedroom a few seconds later, and feels his own face scrunch up in disgust at the possibility that Dean might actually find a camera in there. He really doesn't want to think about the fact that Crowley might have been recording his own escapades, much less the fact that he'll be sleeping at the site of said escapades. With a shudder, Cas downs the rest of his wine and is into his third glass when Dean joins him in the living area.

"Bedroom's clear," Dean announces, grabbing his own liquor bottle and tumbler on his way to the other end of the couch.

Humming an acknowledging sound, Cas leans back in the couch cushions and closes his eyes, relishing the warm flush starting to spread beneath his skin. Now that he knows they aren't being recorded, he feels like he can relax a bit and untucks his shirt.

"You'd better get to drinking if you wanna catch up," Cas mumbles, slipping a hand underneath his own shirt to scratch lazily at his stomach. It's a self-calming gesture and feels good, the way scratching your arms does when you first wake up.

"You gonna drink that whole bottle?" Dean asks.

Typically he'd be able to polish off a bottle and a half before being close to drunk, but it's looking like the only-eating-an-order-of-fries-for-dinner thing is catching up to him, and much more quickly than he expected. Just for spite, he takes a fat swig of wine and gives Dean a pointed look over the rim of his glass, receiving a snort-chuckle for his effort.

"Alright, then," Dean grins, holding up his glass in a mock salute before downing the contents.

"What, no toast? Come on, Dean, this is the closest we're getting to a bachelor party, so I say that calls for a toast. Which really is just kind of like some perverse version of blessing water, when you think about it," Cas rambles. "So here's to the end of a shitty day. In the name of the liquor, the beer, and the fermentation, amen," he finishes, leaning over to tap his glass against Dean's, before taking another swig.

Dean smiles tightly, shaking his head before drinking from his own cup.

"You're not even drunk yet, and you're already losing your filters," Dean chuckles. "Jesus, I'd hate to know what happens to you with tequila."

That earns Dean a dark chuckle, and Cas' eyes are glinting with humor. "On the contrary, you'd probably like that," he smirks. "Isn't there a song about that? Makes your clothes fall off, or something? Anyway, it's whiskey and vodka you probably wouldn't care to be around me for so much. I hear it makes me an asshole," he shrugs.

"I'll make sure and keep all that in mind," Dean says, before polishing off his own glass and refilling it. He doesn't want to get shitfaced tonight or anything, but he sure as hell would like to be closer to the level of tipsiness that Cas is on, as opposed to the level of Marginally Buzzed he currently inhabits.

There's a lull in conversation for several minutes as they both casually sip at their drinks, but it isn't uncomfortable, just sort of strange. They've officially made it the longest period of time yet without fighting in twelve years, and it brings Dean to the realization that Cas is technically the longest-running acquaintanceship he's had outside of family. Dean doesn't quite know what to do with that information at the moment. He looks over to the man in question, watching him top off his glass and start to put the bottle back before squints at it. Then he seems to give a mental shrug, and pours the rest of the bottle in, filling the glass much higher than is considered a proper serving for a glass of wine.

Cas takes a sip, but then sets his glass down and slowly rises up from the couch, stretching a bit once he's on his feet. "Better go take my contacts out while I'm nimble enough to do it," he mutters, then shuffles off toward the bedroom.

Throwing back the rest of his glass, Dean muses on the facts that he's picked up about Cas in the last hour, and finds himself smirking about the contacts because psssssh- he knew those blue eyes had to be fake. He hears Cas come out of the bedroom a minute later and glances over the back of the couch to see the man heading to the fridge and clad in pajamas. For whatever reason, Dean had expected Cas to be wearing an actual matching pajama set like an old man, so it's a little surprising when he takes in the fact that it's actually just navy blue bottoms with freakin' planets all over them, and an old t-shirt.

"Dean? You want anything while I'm in here? I'm getting a snack," Cas calls, rummaging through a drawer in the fridge.

Dean hollers out a 'no thank you', and turns back around, filling his glass again and taking a sip. The act of leaning forward to put the bottle on the floor has his vision trying to play catch up with is eyes, and okay, maybe he needs to cut himself off after this glass because he's probably had...well, the rough mental count puts him somewhere in the ball park of six shots' worth, at least.

When Cas comes back to the couch, he starts to go for the end he'd been occupying, but Dean leans over and catches his wrist before he can sit.

"Unh uh. C'mere a sec," Dean says, patting the cushion next to him. "Sit facing me, I wanna see somethin'." He nearly grimaces as the way his speech is starting to go lazy on his tongue.

Cas puts one hand on his hip and munches on a slice of cheese with his other, giving Dean an unimpressed look that really isn't nearly as effective as he probably thinks it is. If anything, Dean begrudgingly finds the man kind of- ugh- adorable, with his stupid planet pants and bare feet, and the baby blue shirt with a faded logo from an animal shelter _._ Jesus, this is so not what Dean expected Cas to look like in his natural state, and the heavy black-framed glasses are doing nothing to make the effect any less endearing.

There's no telling how long Dean has been staring, but it must have been for some time, because now the cheese is gone, and Cas has his arms crossed over his chest and is tilting his head, looking sassy as fuck.

"First of all, I expect a please in there somewhere. And second, I refuse to apologize for my appearance when I'm winding down for the night," Cas says, eyebrow cocked defiantly.

Mockery is so far from Dean's mind it's ridiculous, and he can't help but huff at himself as he rolls his eyes, reaching for Cas' wrist again. "Christ Cas, will you please just sit down here with me? 'M'not makin' fun," Dean says, tugging lightly at the wrist in his hand.

There's an incredulity-laden pause before Cas sinks down on the couch, muttering, "Worst 'please' ever." Then he turns sideways to face Dean as requested and waits.

Before he's even moved his hands, Dean can see that Cas' eyes are indeed just as blue without contacts, but he still reaches up all the same, moving slowly so as not to startle the man and gently pulls off his glasses. Cas automatically squints a bit, even though there's only a little over a foot between their faces, so naturally, Dean holds up the glasses to peer through them.

"Holy shit, you're blind," Dean says, lowering the frames right back down with a grimace.

"Oh. So that's what it's called when I can't see shit without those," Cas deadpans.

"Yeah, okay smartass," Dean mutters. But then he leans in close, putting their faces a mere eight or so inches away and lets himself really look at Cas' eyes and finds that they actually look a slight bit lighter in color than he's used to seeing them. "God _damn_ , with the blue," he murmurs.

"I thought yours were just green, but they're actually about _four_ different shades of green," Cas says quietly, making his own observation. Then his eyes flick over Dean's face for a moment and an amused smirk creeps up on his lips. Without warning, Cas reaches up and traces an index finger over Dean's cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose, and Dean goes still at the unexpected touch. "I called you Freckles for years, you know," he says quietly.

Dean huffs a laugh at that. "Yeah, I figured, when you called me that while yelling at me to fuck off in a grocery store parking lot." It isn't a good memory, but it doesn't quite inspire bitterness either. It's just one more of those things between them. At the look of embarrassment that crosses Cas' face, Dean instantly feels bad for bringing it up and deflects. "I just called you Blue Eyes," he shrugs.

The deflection works, because Cas looks up at Dean through his lashes with a little smile, and Dean is genuinely uncertain at the moment whether it's a real look of flirtation or one of Cas' little acts. "Really? Thought you would've gone with something like Fuckhead or Skidmark."

A loud, surprised laugh bursts from Dean that has him throwing his head back. " _Skidmark_ …Jesus, Cas." He wheezes more laughter, rubbing his forehead. "I don't think I've heard anyone get called _that_ since like sixth grade. And to hear it from you…"

It's probably the first time Dean has laughed like that in weeks, and it's an intoxicating feeling, as he can practically feel the endorphins releasing. While he never would've expected Cas to be the one to make him do it, Dean doesn't let it stop him from enjoying the moment. As his chuckles die down, Dean wipes his eyes and is met with a tentatively pleased, but not smug, look on Cas' face. He doesn't let himself think about the way it makes a little tendril of warmth uncurl in his chest at the sight, because he knows himself well enough to know that thinking about it would inevitably lead to opposing negative thoughts, and right now he needs this good moment like air.

Before another lull can strike, Cas holds out a hand. "Hold onto my wrist for a second, please."

For whatever reason, Dean doesn't question it and wraps his fingers around the proffered wrist, only barely getting his grip before Cas is leaning backward to grab his wineglass from the end table, using Dean's hold to keep himself from falling backward. The action causes the front of Cas' shirt to ride up a bit, and Dean's eyes zero in on the little strip of flesh and thin trail of hair revealed. It's not much to go on, but it's still nice to look at.

"Lazy much?" Dean smirks, pulling Cas back upright.

Cas merely shrugs as he takes two gulps of his wine. Neither man remarks on the fact that Dean hasn't let go; frankly, Dean hasn't noticed that he's doing it, and Cas is enjoying the way Dean's thumb is stroking absently over his pulse point too much to say anything. Between the much more relaxed atmosphere and the addition of that last bit of alcohol to his stomach, that melty-warm feeling is starting to return, and Cas leans his side into the back cushions of the couch, closing his eyes.

"It's been a long day, and I'm on my first vacation in about ten years. Think I've earned some laziness for a minute," Cas mutters, rubbing his face into the upholstery; it started as a way to soothe an itch, but the fabric is really soft and feels good.

"Ten years? You seriously haven't taken a break in a friggin' decade?" Dean asks.

With an expression equivalent to a facial shrug, Cas stops his face rubbing but doesn't open his eyes. "Bought a house about a year after I got my first real job, and have also been paying Gabriel back for my schooling while trying to save. Just paid the house off a few months ago. Haven't had time."

"No wonder you always look a thousand percent done," Dean says, only half-teasing. Really though, it's an impressive amount of accomplishment, considering that the dude's only…shit, Dean doesn't remember. "How old are you?"

Cracking a tired eye, Cas sighs. "According to the thing today, I'm apparently thirty four. Thought I was a year younger this whole time. And you're correct, I am generally always in a state of doneness," he admits, then frowns. "I should probably know how old you are too. When's your birthday?"

"January twenty fourth. I'm thirty one," Dean says, stretching a hand out for his drink and realizing he's still holding Cas' glasses. He unfolds one of the arms with one hand and hangs the heavy frames from his shirt, only then noticing that not only had he never let go of Cas' wrist, but that his hand has slid down, and now their hands are folded together. He still doesn't let go because fuck it, it feels nice.

"I have a confession," Cas says, finally pulling himself back upright so he can feel a little more present. At the interested quirk of Dean's eyebrow, Cas continues. "The only thing that kept me from punching you that day in the coffee shop was the fact that I thought you were underage and I didn't want to deal with your parents and a lawsuit."

Even in his nearly tipsy haze, Dean knows that this line of conversation could end up going south real quick, and decides to keep it as neutral as possible.

"Nah, definitely wasn't underage. I'd just left from enlisting with the army recruiters when I stopped in your shop. I was procasti- percrast- goddammit," Dean curses, irritated with his tongue. "I was puttin' off goin' home and tellin' my folks at the time."

Eyebrows pulling together, Cas looks down at their joined hands, but doesn't move to pull them apart. He stays quiet for several seconds as he processes the information. God, Dean was just a baby when he enlisted, and he'd done it voluntarily, during a time when so many people were so scared for the war that was breaking out.

"We're going to talk about this sometime, but I think we should back off for now. What d'ya think?" Cas asks.

"Yeah, not tonight," Dean says softly.

Cas nods, looking relieved that they're on the same page, but still a bit troubled. When he raises his wineglass this time, he polishes it off purposefully, as if willing the light mood to come back. He grimaces a little bit as he finishes swallowing, and leans to the side to set his glass on the floor, grateful that Dean has a grip on him, because his equilibrium is definitely not cooperating at the moment.

"Whoa, there," Dean says, grinning at the way Cas sways as he sits back up.

Letting out a deep fruity breath, Cas blinks a few times.

"I do believe I'm officially drunk now," he announces, rather unnecessarily.

Dean snorts and finishes off the rest of his drink too, figuring they're both pretty well done for the night.

"At least we have plenty of time to sleep it off. Don't need to be rollin' up to the altar feelin' like death," Dean says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. It's only going on midnight, but his exhaustion and the effect of the alcohol is starting to make itself known in the heaviness of his eyelids.

Cas looks like he's in the same boat, and it's confirmed when Dean suggests going to bed and Cas nods tiredly. After some swaying and fumbled steps to the kitchen on both their parts, the two manage to each drink a glass of water and pour another before coordinating their alarms on their phones so they don't oversleep the next morning.

Cas doesn't make a second offer to share the bed with Dean, and Dean is glad of it, because at this point he isn't so sure he could turn down the opportunity to crash into an actual bed and pass out in real comfort. Instead, they poke around the closets until they find some extra blankets and pillows, and Cas helps Dean make a little nest on the couch, just as he'd intended.

In his haze, it seems to make perfect sense to Dean to then follow Cas into the bedroom and make sure the man gets into bed okay and essentially tuck him in, pulling the covers up. It also seems to make sense at the time to clumsily wipe off the lenses of Cas' glasses with a shirt tail before setting them down, and just as much sense to run his fingers through Cas' hair and swoop down to plant a sloppy kiss on the man's forehead, with a slurred, 'Night, Cas.'

For his own part, none of that quite makes sense to Cas, but it's sort of nice being coddled for once, so he allows it. The only time he's ever gotten that sort of treatment before was when he was a child, and Gabriel would take care of him when he was sick. And even then, it wasn't really coddling so much, because that's…just not Gabriel's style.

As Dean starts to pull away, Cas reaches out blindly, too tired to bother opening his eyes, and grabs whatever bit of Dean his hand first makes contact with. Apparently, it's Dean's pinkie, judging by the feel of it.

"Thank you. For bein'…nice n' all," Cas mutters. "Needed that."

He hears a light chuckle as Dean's hand pulls out of his grip. "'S'fine, Cas. Don't get used to it though, you know'm still an asshole, right?" Dean says lightly.

Cas grunts an acknowledgement, sleep approaching too fast to bother thinking anymore, and brain swimming too much to consider a good response, anyway. He vaguely registers the sound of Dean leaving the room and nuzzles into the pillow a bit before sleep pulls him under.

Before Dean's even made it all the way down the hall, he hears a faint snore from filter out from the bedroom door and snorts to himself. It's habit more than anything that has him ambling around checking to make sure all the windows and doors are locked before he finally strips down and settles into his nest, reaching over his head to turn off the lamp on the end table. He fumbles his hand around until he finds his phone and double-checks his own alarm, sighing at the time.

In about eight hours, he's going to be waking up and getting ready for a wedding. His _own_ wedding. In less than twelve hours, Dean Winchester is going to be marrying Castiel goddamned Novak, and his family doesn't even know it. His thoughts wander brokenly over the implications as he drifts toward sleep, hoping that it isn't going to be one of _those_ nights. He doesn't regret taking the couch.


	11. Act One

To Castiel's relief, Dean is about as much of a morning person as Castiel is. Meaning: neither man is offended by the utter lack of conversation for the first twenty minutes, and until they've finished their first cup of coffee. They also don't bother with typical morning pleasantries of 'how did you sleep' or 'how are you feeling today?' because the answers are fairly obvious between the dark circles under Dean's eyes, and the way Castiel has been grimacing as he nibbles on a piece of plain buttered toast.

Oddly, it makes for a fairly pleasant start, all things considered.

It's halfway into his second cup and leafing through the contents of a Manila envelope that Meg had left with them, that Dean comes across something that has him sitting up abruptly and eyes darting to Cas.

"What?" Cas croaks, voice still sleep-graveled. Dean's face goes unreadable for a moment, and it makes Castiel incredibly uneasy.

Dean takes a sip of his coffee and clears his throat. "You haven't looked at any of this have you?"

"No, not yet. What's going on?" Cas asks, feeling his pulse pick up in anticipation of what must be bad news.

Instead of telling him, Dean slides a paper across the table and diverts his attention immediately to his coffee, as if to give Cas a moment. The moment Castiel picks up the paper, he sees that it's a copy of a filled-out form from the Social Security Administration and feels his stomach twist instantly. It only takes a second to confirm his suspicions that it is indeed a name change request already 'signed', and Castiel sets the paper down as he exhales a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, man," Dean says quietly.

"I suppose I should have seen that coming," Castiel says just as quietly, tone flat as he lifts his cup to take a swig of his coffee.

Dean watches him openly for several seconds, and Castiel ignores it, reaching for one of the spa's pamphlets and pretending to read it. He honestly doesn't know what else to do at the moment, because this is absolutely not the time to let himself think about the utter loss of identity he's been ignoring for the past eighteen hours.

"Is that it? Seriously? You're actually fine with taking my name," Dean says incredulously, as he leans forward to rest his elbows on the table.

Castiel closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath. "It would be incredibly counterproductive to examine my feelings and opinions on this matter at the moment, so I'm not going to."

"Sooo…your plan is to compartmentalize?" Dean asks curiously.

"I suppose so," Castiel admits. "What about you? What are you thinking? About this specific subject, I mean."

Dean leans back in his seat, toying with the handle of his coffee cup as he considers his response.

"I don't know," he finally says, running a hand through his already sleep-mussed hair. "I never really figured the possibility of marriage into my life. Thought I'd die before I made it to twenty five, you know?" Dean shrugs. "Guess if I have to share my name, I could do worse. Hell, my family's probably gonna be wondering what the hell you're doing with me, considering how you look on paper."

Between the morbid opener, the mention of family, the self-deprecation, and the backhanded compliment, Castiel doesn't know what to respond to first. It's a clusterfuck of themes to pick from, so he decides to go with a tease to lighten the mood; they really do need to start getting ready soon, so the conversation needs to be wrapped up.

"Maybe they'll think I have a military kink or something," Castiel smirks.

It does the trick, because Dean snorts a laugh and his face relaxes a bit. "Would they be wrong?"

No, actually, they wouldn't. Not completely, anyway. Castiel knows good and damned well that he's always been drawn to authoritative types that are neither intimidated by him, nor want to control him. He considers playing it coy, but the desire to see Dean's reaction at his honesty itches underneath his skin; Castiel doesn't think about why.

"Somewhat," he replies, biting back a grin as he sees the trace of disappointment on Dean's face. "Though I've never dated anyone in the military, I suppose it fits my type."

Dean's interest is clearly piqued, but he also looks surprised, and something like satisfaction washes over Castiel at proving Dean's conceptions of him wrong.

"What, got a thing for badasses and authority figures, Cas?" Dean smirks.

"Yes," he says bluntly.

Dean's eyes track over Cas' face briefly, before he lets out a short chuckle. "You're not kidding are you?" he asks, but it isn't much of a question.

Castiel stands up then, and takes his cup to the sink, speaking over his shoulder as he rinses it out. "I don't really have a reason to hide it," he shrugs.

He hears Dean stand up and walk over, probably to deal with his own cup, but Castiel doesn't expect to feel Dean crowd in behind him, or the way strong hands grip into Cas' waist as Dean pulls him close. Then there are teeth scraping lightly over the side of his neck, and an involuntary shiver shoots down his spine that earns him a dark chuckle from the man behind him.

"It's not that simple though, is it?" Dean murmurs next to his ear. "Bet you like it rough sometimes too, don't you Cas?" he says, punctuating it with a sharp nip to Castiel's earlobe.

Oh god, he was not prepared for that, and a soft moan sounds in Cas' throat before he can choke it completely off. Instead of the mocking chuckle Castiel would've expected at the embarrassingly needy noise, Dean's breath hitches as his fingers tighten briefly over Cas' waist.

"That was a real dick move sending that video, by the way," Dean says, pulling away.

Castiel almost- _almost_ \- feels disappointed at the loss, but he's too surprised by the short, playful smack to his ass right after, that's immediately soothed by a broad palm running over it. No one has ever had the nerve to try and smack his ass before, and the fact that Dean has the audacity is equal parts infuriating and arousing. Or maybe it's infuriating because it's arousing; it's hard to tell at this point because it is Dean, after all. Even now, Castiel doesn't know whether to be irritated or pleased by the way Dean's hand has shifted from rubbing to groping possessively. It's so damned presumptuous, but it also makes him feel desired in a way that he hasn't in years.

"Enjoying yourself back there?" he asks dryly, for lack of a better response.

With a little shrug and a grin, Dean gives a couple short squeezes before letting go. "Yeah," he says easily. But then his grin falls and he steps back a little, looking worried.

"Um, sorry. I guess I shouldn't have…I mean, I assumed..." Dean trails off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

The change in demeanor is so swift it nearly gives Castiel whiplash. Thoughtlessly, he reaches out and lays a hand on Dean's hip in a sort of calming gesture.

"Sex is among many things we have to discuss, but right now we seriously need to be getting ready, if we're going to make it on time," Castiel says gently, emphasizing his non-anger by rubbing his thumb over Dean's hip.

It seems to work, because Dean relaxes a bit and glances at the clock on the stove.

"Let's do this," Dean nods.

 

***

 

"Well? Do I look like husband material?" Cas asks as he comes to a stop in front of where Dean is sitting at the table, squeezing in one last cup of coffee. When Dean looks up, he nearly chokes on the sip in his mouth.

It's nothing new to see Cas in a button up and slacks and sometimes a tie; in fact, Dean's seen him in that sort of attire more often than anything else over the years. But hot _damn_ , he'd nearly forgotten what a difference a waistcoat could make.

Dean lets his eyes roam appreciatively over the slim black trousers and matching waistcoat, the look simple yet elegant, with the white shirt and tie with subtle royal and navy blue stripes. Even the man's hair is tamed into a neater style than usual. And thank Christ he'd only toned the scruff down to stubble instead of going for a clean shave, because the stubble is really pulling it all together in wonderful contrast to the clean-cut look.

"Fuck yeah, you look like husband material," Dean says with a grin, not bothering to hold back his admiration. He reasons that he doesn't mind stroking Cas' ego because they're supposed to look happy, and it could only help them out if Cas is feeling confident.

Standing up, Dean takes a step back and holds his own hands out at his sides, feeling a bit self-conscious; his own outfit isn't as sophisticated, just a pair of pair of black dress pants and a black button-up with a silver tie and stylish gray blazer to match. He also isn't sure if the somewhat large belt buckle is appropriate, but when Charlie had him modeling the outfit in the store those months ago, she had insisted that it broke up all the black or some other crap that Dean only half-listened to.

"Do I look like someone you'd be okay showing up with to marry?" Dean asks, gesturing to clarify the outfit and his own hairstyle.

Cas' gaze drags over him appraisingly, a bit more intensely than Dean expected. But then the man is stepping into his space and pushing at the blazer, and Dean lets him take it off.

"Absolutely. But you're going to roast if you wear that jacket," Cas murmurs.

Without another word, Cas pulls Dean's wrists up and unbuttons the cuffs on Dean's shirt before expertly rolling the sleeves up to Dean's elbows. Admittedly, Cas always seems to look a bit more put-together than Dean, so he doesn't put up any resistance and just lets Cas make whatever adjustments he sees fit. Surprisingly, Cas seems intent on relaxing Dean's outfit, popping the top button and loosening the tie a touch, before doing some minor adjustments to his hair. Then he steps back to admire his work and nods to himself, looking satisfied.

"Come to the en suite so we can stand in front of the big mirror and see how we look together," Cas orders, already taking off in the direction of the bedroom.

The bossiness doesn't bother Dean as much as amuse him, at Cas' concern over their appearance. When he steps into the bathroom and comes to stand next to Cas, he isn't expecting the man to grab his hand and lace their fingers together and it must show, because Cas sighs and rolls his eyes.

"We need to see if we look like a conceivable couple," Cas says, tilting his head toward the mirror.

Dean turns his attention toward their reflection and is surprised at how well they seem to complement each other, both with their own given looks and their dress. He can see now why Cas made the adjustments; just those few simple changes have made him look less severe and more open, like getting ready was a pleasure, rather than a duty.

"Damn, Cas. We look hot," he says, pulling his hand away to drape an arm around Cas' shoulder and pull the man against his side. Cas' arm automatically snakes around his back, hand coming to rest above Dean's hip, and the image of them posed like that, heads tilting slightly toward each other, looks surprisingly natural. It's a bittersweet moment, where Dean can almost imagine a parallel universe, where another Dean and Cas are just two normal guys without a Jenga tower of issues each, and-

No. None of that.

Dean cuts off that line of thought and drops his arm from Cas' shoulder. He doesn't like the look of hesitant concern he gets; he isn't supposed to get that kind of look from Cas. The moment passes though, and Cas is back to business, discussing the details of what to expect of the ceremony and making sure they both have the correct rings in their pockets before they leave.

 

***

 

With a deep sigh, Dean shuts off the ignition and turns to look at Cas, eyes determined.

"You know we got this, right?"

Cas nods, equally determined. He had spent a fair amount of time psyching himself up while he got ready earlier, even going so far as to build a little scenario in his head of pretending that he was an actor, getting ready for the opening night of a play. There would be lines and cues for different reactions, and they were simply in costume for the first act.

"From here on out, we're simply in-character," Cas says, more to remind himself than anything.

Deans makes a vague noise of agreement, and opens his door. "Stay there," he says over his shoulder, before getting out. Then he comes around the car and opens Cas' door, holding out a hand. Cas takes it begrudgingly and allows Dean to help him out like a kid trying to impress his prom date.

Twining their fingers together, Dean leans in close to speak quietly as they start on the path to the South Gazebo, about thirty yards away. "Don’t give me that look. I'm acting in character for how I'd treat someone if I were about to marry them for real."

Cas doesn't have to fake the small smile that tugs at his lips as he realizes that Dean's sort of old-fashioned. Before Dean can get the idea that he's being laughed at, Cas squeezes reassuringly at his hand.

In accordance with the rest of the structures on the grounds of the spa, the gazebo isn't painted, the wood simply treated. The only things that mark it as anything more than a shady spot to sit down are the white ribbon that's been wrapped around the spindles that reach from the handrail to the ceiling, and two large vases of an assortment of flowers that are flanking the area where a woman is already standing on a box.

"Heya, fellas! Here to get hitched?" she asks cheerfully, as they approach.

Dean flashes the woman a bright grin as they walk up the couple of steps into the space, and drops Castiel's hand to offer it to the woman when they step onto the platform.

"I'm Dean, and this is-"

"I'm Castiel," he finishes, extending his own hand with a charming grin. Because he can introduce himself, thankyouverymuch.

"Nice to meet you guys, I'm Lena, and I'll be the one marrying you. We'll get started in just a minute; your photographer friend got turned around a bit finding their way here, but they should be here any moment," she says apologetically.

Frankly, Castiel doesn't really have many friends, and none of them are photographers, even as a hobby. By the way Dean tenses beside him, apparently, Dean doesn't know who this is either, but they both nod, and Castiel searches out Dean's hand again. If Lena notices their surprise, she doesn't say anything and continues on.

"So, how did you two meet?" she asks conversationally.

Castiel forces a wistful smile onto his face, while panic squeezes at his chest; they probably should have come up with their backstory, but in all the blur of events and his own attempt at not losing his shit the last day or so, it hadn't occurred to him that they'd need it ready before Monday. Fortunately, Dean is a little faster on his toes and lets out a little chuckle.

"I um…it's pretty embarrassing, but uh…it was several years ago, and I'd ducked into this little coffee shop to get out of the rain. I was just a dumb kid and didn't know anything about all that fancy coffee crap, so I probably should've been looking at the menu, but I kinda got distracted checking out the guy at the counter," Dean says, bumping his shoulder against Cas', and getting a light laugh from Lena. Castiel can't believe Dean is going with the truth, but he also can't deny that he's curious to hear this story from Dean's point of view.

"And then he was looking at me, waiting on me to order something, so I just said something I thought I'd heard my brother order before, and it turned out it wasn't even a real drink. So I was all embarrassed at looking like an idiot in front of the hot college guy and acted like a jerk to try and save face. He didn't take any of my bullshit, though," Dean says, turning to throw a wink at Cas. "Never has. And to make it worse, I tried to hightail it out of there after I got my drink and ended up knocking over the table with his laptop on it and destroying it. Probably the most mortifying day of my life."

Lena is looking between the two of them with interest and amusement, and Castiel hopes that his face isn't showing any of his surprise at Dean's honesty. Instead, he pulls their joined hands to his mouth and kisses Dean's knuckles, stalling for time to figure out what to say for his own part. He opens his mouth, not quite sure what's going to come out, but is saved when they hear a car pull up, and all three of them turn to see who it is. Dean takes in a subtle breath, clearly recognizing the car.

Castiel doesn't have but a second to wonder, before an unmistakable head of bright red hair is exiting the car, camera bag in hand. It's a huge relief, considering that he'd been fully prepared for one of Crowley's people to show up and stare them down under the pretense of photography. Castiel is fairly certain that Crowley wouldn't send her, but even if he did, it seems unlikely that Charlie would be the type to follow the rules or do exactly as he asks. Plus, Dean trusts her, so that's good enough for now.

"Hey guys, sorry I'm late," she says, bustling up to them. As soon as she's on the platform, she sets her bag down and steps over to Dean, pulling him into a tight hug. But then, to his dismay, she lets Dean go and gives Castiel the same treatment.

"Hug me back, asshole. We're gonna be family here in a minute," she whispers. Castiel does as instructed, chuckling a bit; he likes Charlie's fire.

"Well, you two sure do clean up nicely," she says, pulling back and squatting down to her bag. She and Lena exchange introductions while she gets her equipment ready, and then Charlie is on her feet and pacing the gazebo as she decides what angle she wants to go with.

Castiel figures it's time now, and shuffles over a few steps, Dean following his lead as they come to stand in front of Lena, who nods at Charlie.

"Alright then, gentlemen, let's begin," Lena says with a more subdued smile.

"First, let me say that I'm incredibly honored to be here, not only bearing witness, but facilitating the joining of two lovers in a public commitment of your devotion to each other," she begins, and Castiel is surprised to see that Lena actually looks and sounds genuine in her statement. He feels irrationally guilty about the lie of it all; Lena's a nice lady, and clearly a romantic.

"Now, please turn and take each other's hands," she instructs.

That's easy enough, but now Castiel doesn't know if he's supposed to be looking at Dean or Lena; he would think Lena, because she's the one speaking, but Dean's looking at him with a soft smile, so Castiel supposes it would be appropriate to stare longingly at the person he's marrying.

"We use our hands for many purposes in our lives; they can create something new, or repair something broken. They can also bring comfort, or offer support, and for those lucky enough, show love. As you stand here today, joined hand in hand with your love, take comfort; for these are the hands that will lend you strength when life works against you, and will be there when you need a compassionate touch. They will work with your own as you build your life together, and will be the hands to touch you with passion like none has before or ever will again."

Goddammit. It's exactly the sort of speech that Castiel would've chosen if it were for an actual wedding, and his throat tightens with emotion at the realization that these are things he doesn't get to have and probably never will. Not that he'd ever expected to spend his life with anyone, but still. He offers a weak smile to Dean, when he feels the man give him a gentle squeeze, and feels his own face heat up in embarrassment that Dean is witnessing him having a moment.

"And with these hands, you will now show your commitment to each other. Dean, if you have the ring, please place it on Castiel's fingertip," Lena intones.

Dean lets go of Castiel's hand to retrieve the ring, and Castiel holds his hand out, internally cursing the fact that for whatever reason, his hand is shaking. Shit, this isn't even real, so why in the hell is it getting to him? Performance anxiety, maybe? _Focus. The show must go on,_ he chides himself, taking a deep breath. Their eyes meet as Dean slides the ring just to the first knuckle, and Castiel is surprised to see that he isn't the only one feeling a bit affected by it all; if he isn't mistaken, Dean actually looks a bit emotional, too.

"Good. Now, repeat after me. I, Dean Winchester, promise my love, loyalty, and trust through the good times and the difficult; to treat you with respect, and to always keep your best interest in mind."

Dean repeats the lines, voice going a bit strained, despite the oddly not-so-romantic nature of the vows.

"Castiel, do you accept Dean's pledge as your husband?"

"I do," he croaks, grimacing at his own voice.

Lena gives him a soft look that practically says 'awww' and turns to Dean. "Dean, you may slide the ring down, now."

Once the ring is situated in its right place, Dean gives Castiel an encouraging smile and a tiny nod. The process then repeats, Castiel offering the same words, fingertips poised over the ring resting at Dean's first knuckle. His hands are still shaking and his voice wavers a bit, but he gets through it, even though Dean's eyes are dangerously shiny looking by the end of it. Jesus, no. Dean can't do that, or Castiel's going to lose what little decorum he's been scrambling for; as loathe as he is to admit it, Castiel is one of those that cries at weddings, and apparently, even fake ones involving himself fall under that umbrella.

"Dean, do you accept Castiel's pledge as your husband?"

Dean clears his throat, twice, and even then the words come out thick, an unshed tear threatening at the edge of one eye. "I do."

As soon as the order is given, Castiel is breaking eye contact and sliding the ring down, needing to get this over with already. There's a moment of panic, when the ring catches a bit at Dean's middle knuckle; of course something would have to go wrong. Acting on his panic and not really thinking it through, Castiel lifts Dean's ring finger to his mouth and licks the skin below the troublesome knuckle to ease the way for the ring. Lena makes a choked off sound like she's holding back laughter, and Dean's eyes are wide, but it's too late to pretend he didn't just do that, so Castiel does all he can and slides the ring the rest of the way down. He's pretty sure he hears Charlie snort off to his side.

"By the powers vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you married."

"Come'ere, you dork," Dean teases with a genuine grin. Then his hands are cupping Castiel's jaw and Dean is leaning in for a kiss. It's sweet and affectionate and exactly what would be an appropriate 'just married' kiss and something about it jars him. In an impulsive move he doesn't quite think through, Cas' hands seem to move of their own accord, and then he's got a healthy handful of Dean's ass in each hand.

Dean gasps in surprise, Lena finally lets herself laugh, and then after a few seconds, Charlie lets out a wolf whistle. Still riding the Impulsive Decision Train, Castiel takes advantage of Dean's gasp and makes the kiss inappropriately deep just for a moment, before his own laughter at the scandalized look in Dean's eyes breaks it up.

When they pull apart, Dean's face is fluctuating comically between surprise and amusement, before his own laughter wins out. "Hot damn, Cas," he says with a chuckle. "I know I'm pretty irresistible, but wow."

Normally, Castiel would roll his eyes or scoff at Dean's preening, but instead he finds himself grinning and giving Dean a salacious wink. God, what is wrong with him? Why did he do that; any of that? This is exactly why Castiel tends to avoid overly emotional situations when he can…he rarely reacts appropriately. At least he didn't laugh at the wrong time, because that's definitely one of those embarrassing things he tends to do when he's under pressure.

"Well, guys, it was a pleasure getting to be part of such a special day for you two," Lena cuts in, interrupting Castiel's thoughts. "I've got your license, and I'll take care of getting your marriage certificate filed. It should arrive in the mail for you in a couple weeks. Congratulations, Mr. Winchester," she says to Dean, then looks at Castiel and winks, "Mr. Winchester."

Both men say their thanks, and then Lena is leaving. As soon as she's out of the gazebo, both men collapse onto one of the benches built into the side, leaning shoulder to shoulder and supporting the other's weight. Castiel winds his arm around Dean's, relieved when the man doesn't pull away or otherwise refuse him the simple comfort; if anything, Dean slouches down a bit and lets his legs flop open, until their thighs rest against each other. Castiel doesn't bother trying to understand why he's seeking comfort in Dean.

"Awww, that's so gross," Charlie says, snapping a picture of them. It's honestly the first picture that Castiel has noticed her taking, and he realizes that he didn't hear any sound. Oh, she must have muted the camera sounds, then.

Dean flips her off, but makes no move to change their position. Charlie snorts a laugh as she pulls the box over that Lena had been standing on, to sit in front of the two men.

"What? It's not my fault that you two look like a couple of exhausted puppies," she shrugs.

"Be honest; how did we do? Did it look real?" Dean asks her, ignoring her comment.

"Yeah, you both did good. Well, except for the finger-licking thing," she says, smirking at Castiel.

Castiel huffs and feels an embarrassed blush rise up on his face. "I panicked when the ring wouldn't go, and wasn't thinking, okay?"

Dean and Charlie both chuckle at his expense, but sober again after a moment.

"So look, I'm sorry I couldn't give you guys any warning about popping in, but I'm gonna guess you're both aware of the communication lockdown you're on," Charlie says, setting her camera on the floor next to her.

"How did you know about this?" Castiel blurts. "I thought Meg and Crowley were the only ones that knew anything."

"What can I say? It's suspicious as hell when Dean decides to take an uncharacteristic spontaneous long weekend for the first time ever, and especially after just leaving the boss' office. So I ran a-"

Dean cuts her off with a hand up, and looks at Cas. "I'm going to save us some time and summarize: Charlie has a giant nosy brain and can also hack into pretty much anything."

"Damn straight, I can," she says, chin lifted. "But look, I'm kind of on a time crunch here if I want to avoid running into any minions, so I'm going to get right to it. Gabriel's lawyer did some mojo and got him out of jail for the thing with the porn, since he wasn't directly responsible for it. The bad news is, he's practically under house arrest, since he's a flight risk while they start up this identity fraud and illegal immigrant investigation. It's not looking good, guys. Like, FBI getting called in and all that crap."

"Shit," Dean and Cas both swear at the same time, though they both knew it would probably come to that.

"Do you think they're looking for me?" Castiel asks, after a pause.

Charlie sighs and digs around in her bag for a minute as she speaks. "I'm not sure. No one has come sniffing around at work so far, and no one besides the minions and other guests have turned up here from what I could see. I can't speak for whether anyone's been to your house yet, and I'm assuming that no one has been to Dean's or he would've said something already."

Dean nods a confirmation, but Castiel can't help but wonder how Dean would know. His question gets a smirk from Dean and a snort from Charlie.

"Dude, Dean's house is wired up six ways from Sunday. If anyone unwelcome had been there, he'd have gotten an alert on his phone," Charlie says, finally finding what she was looking for. She hands both of them a generic smartphone. "Unlimited data and minutes, and souped up by yours truly for privacy."

"Thanks, Charlie," Dean says earnestly.

"Yes, thank you," Castiel echoes. "You're risking a lot by helping us," he says softly.

Charlie shrugs with a tired grin. "I know how to disappear if I have to. And I don't really feel like I did much. But at least you can make calls or look shit up if you have to."

Castiel is beginning to put a picture together of exactly what Charlie is capable of, as well as what kind of person she is and can see why she and Dean are close even if he doesn't know how they met. And maybe he's still a bit emotionally wrought from earlier, but he can't help looking between the other two and considering how lucky he is.

Dean could have easily told Crowley to fuck off and protected himself through legal channels, but instead chose to consider Castiel's well being in all of this. Who even does that, for someone they don't even like that much? And now, here's Charlie, putting her own life at risk, for not just Dean but both of them. She could've easily met with Dean in secret to protect herself from involvement, but had decided for whatever reason that Castiel was trustworthy. It's incredibly humbling.

Standing up, Castiel offers Charlie a hand. Once she's on her feet, Castiel pulls her into a hug, huffing a laugh when she stays stiff in his arms. "Hug me back, Charlie. I'm trying to say thank you."

That earns him a snort, and Charlie allows it, hugging back as she pats him between the shoulder blades. "You're welcome. Dean's a good person, and I'm pretty sure you are too, so just…try not to be asshats, okay?" she whispers.

When they pull apart, Castiel gives her a small smile and a nod.

"Did you two really just have some kind of chick-flick moment?" Dean cuts in obnoxiously.

"What? Are you jealous that you weren't included?" Castiel teases, throwing Charlie a conspiratorial wink.

Dean rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Yeah, not so much."

"I don't know, I think he still sounds pretty jealous. What do you think, Charlie?" Castiel asks, fully aware of the smirk that's settled on his face.

"Gotta go with Cas on this one. Sorry, Dean," Charlie shrugs, eyes full of mirth.

"You're both assholes," Dean says, unimpressed. "Maybe the two of _you_ should go to that couple's massage thing. Paint your nails, and talk about your pores or whatever."

Why would Dean use couple's massage of all things…unless he actually is a touch jealous? Surely Dean doesn't think Castiel is trying to steal his friend or something. Either way, Dean's behavior only serves to give rise to the slightly sadistic side of Castiel that he seems to have in reserve for Dean especially, and the Impulse Train toots its horn.

Castiel steps over to stand in front of Dean where he's still seated, and without warning, climbs in Dean's lap, straddling his thighs. Dean's eyes go comically wide, and a laugh ripples out from Castiel's chest at the reaction, as he brings his hands up to cup either side of Dean's jaw.

"Oh, Dean. Sweet husband, moon of my life," Castiel croons. "You know I'd talk to you about your pores, but they're already in good shape, baby," he smirks, patting Dean on the cheek.

Dean blinks hard, looking utterly dumbfounded at the unexpected behavior, before looking around Cas to glare at Charlie, who isn't even attempting to control her snickers. When he glances back up at Cas, he doesn't look any less confused and Cas gives him a shit-eating grin. God, but there's just something so addictive about catching Dean off guard. Plus, there's no sense in delaying Dean finding out that Castiel can be kind of weird sometimes; they're stuck together now, so Dean may as well start getting used to it.

"What the hell is this, and who are you?" Dean asks, half-glaring and flapping a hand. But interestingly, not pushing Castiel off his lap.

"Are you done acting jealous?" Castiel asks, eyebrow cocked and fiddling with Dean's tie.

"I'm not jealous," Dean asserts, but not as sternly as expected.

Castiel sobers a bit and leans forward so he can whisper in Dean's ear. "I'm not trying to steal your friend, Dean, if that's what you're thinking. But I do like to let people know when I appreciate them."

When he pulls back, those green eyes are boring into him like they have so many times before, but it isn't with the underlying irritation there normally would be. This time, it's with a certain amount of curiosity, as if Castiel is a puzzle to sort. Whatever Dean is mentally working through, Castiel lets him, looking right back at him. The staring contest doesn't let up until Charlie clears her throat off to the side, and they both look over to her.

"So as fun as it is watching you two eyefuck," she says with a somewhat disapproving look, "I need to get a few of those cheesy post-wedding pics, and then I gotta roll."

Fortunately, Charlie isn't any more interested in drawing out the process than Dean and Cas, so four poses and fifteen minutes later, Charlie is packing her camera away. It's a little past noon, and the heat of the day is already starting to really ramp up anyway, so Castiel is glad that they get it done quickly.

After a warning to keep their new phones on in case Charlie finds anything else, and a round of parting hugs, Charlie takes off, leaving Dean and Castiel to a semi-awkward silence. Now that they're alone again, the reality of what just happened seems to be settling between them. They're still sitting in the parking lot, A/C cranked and car idling when Dean lets out a heavy sigh and finally turns to look at Cas.

"I don't have a friggin' clue what we're supposed to do now," Dean admits.

"It does seem a bit anti-climactic, now that that part is over," Castiel replies, a wry grin tugging at his lips.

"So…" Dean trails off, clearly waiting on Castiel to supply an idea of what they should do or where they should go. It's an odd feeling, realizing that Dean is deferring to him on the matter, even as trivial as it is.

"Cabin?" Castiel asks with a shrug.

An odd look crosses Dean's face that Castiel can't interpret, but it's only there for a moment.

"Yeah, we got shit to do, might as well get some of it out of the way," Dean says, putting the car in gear.

Oh. Honestly, Castiel was thinking more along the lines of eating some lunch and taking a nap, and then maybe checking out some of the spa's amenities later. He just survived getting married, and was kind of hoping that they could take a break from all the business today.

"Um, I was thinking more along the lines of lounging around and doing whatever the fuck we want for the rest of the day," he responds. "I think we could both probably use a break," he adds.

Dean grunts a vague sound that could be agreement or simply acknowledging the idea, but Castiel doesn't care; he's getting his damned nap one way or another.


	12. The Winchesters' New Groove

The first thirty minutes back at the cabin seem to pass easily enough, both men having opted to change into jeans and t-shirts and then reconvene in the kitchen for a snack. Despite it being lunchtime, neither man's nerves are settled enough for a meal just yet, and neither says a word about the fact that they both decide to crack open a beer.

Both men seem content for some time with the lack of conversation, each processing and coping with what happened in their own ways as they sit at the table, snacking on crackers and cheese.

Cas made it pretty clear that he means to veg out, but Dean still has excess mental energy to burn, left over from dealing with the wedding. And here his thoughts go exactly where he didn't want them; Dean really doesn't want to think about the wedding, but it seems kind of impossible, because Cas. Dean can't help but glance across the table at the man, thinking about the unexpected behaviors Cas exhibited.

It's sort of unnerving because Dean has to, although reluctantly, admit that Cas is actually shaping out to be a surprisingly warm person. He'd nearly gaped at the open appreciation and then confusing camaraderie between Cas and Charlie, and Dean still doesn't know what to do with the lap thing. Sure, there had been smartassery, as to be expected, but it had been merely playful this time, and then ended with Cas…reassuring him?

The more Dean tries to parse Cas' motivations for the recent attitude change that really started _before_ this shitstorm blew in, the more Dean realizes that he just simply doesn't know enough about the man to come to any real conclusion. Cas is sort of an enigma, open with his thoughts and emotions at times, then closed off and stilted at others. One minute he can be blunt and confident, and then in the next, nervous and uncertain. Even his generally collected demeanor seems to have an undercurrent of constant energy beneath it, almost like looking at a wasp nest; innocuous on the outside, but nothing you want to go poking too hard with a stick either.

Heh. Well, okay, maybe that's not entirely true. Dean's done plenty of poking, and wouldn't mind to poke a bit more…in the fun way. Even in the privacy of his own head, he knows that was awful, but can't seem to bite back the amused smirk that's crept up on his face. When he chances a glance up, Cas is looking at him curiously, so yeah, maybe Dean needs to work a little harder on taming his face; he knows he's gone sort of soft on that recently.

Instead of the gruff ' _what_ ' that he means to say, Dean's facial muscles seem to work of their own accord and throw Cas a saucy grin and a wink. Cas looks startled for a moment, before ducking his head and refocusing back on peeling at the label on his beer bottle as a blush works its way up his cheeks. Holy crap, that is so not what Dean meant to do, but he can't really regret it either; there's something very satisfying about knowing he can make Cas blush. On a purely sexual level, of course.

Even as the last thought pops in, Dean knows it's weak, but decides not to dwell on it.

"I'm um…sorry about the groping and all, earlier," Cas mumbles, eyes still focused on his bottle.

"What?"

Great. _Now_ his mouth decides to let the word out.

Cas grimaces but finally brings his eyes up, though the blush is still hanging around.

"It was inappropriate for the setting, and I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. I mean, some touch is to be expected of us in public settings from here on out, but we haven't discussed what touches are okay in general, and I hope I didn't cross a major line with that," Cas explains, eyes wide and apologetic.

Honestly, Dean hadn't even considered that. Sure, he'd been surprised, but he hadn't minded. If anything, he was pretty sure it probably made for an amusing picture, if Charlie managed to capture it, but that was as far as he'd thought about it. Dean offers Cas a small smile and is pleased when the man seems to relax a bit.

"Not gonna lie, I wasn't expecting to find out that you've got a spontaneous bone somewhere in your body, but I wasn't embarrassed, alright?" he asks, waiting for Cas to confirm that he believes him. Cas lets out a relieved breath and gives him a half-smile.

"Good. Because I really don't want you to be all mortified to have to admit that I'm your husband," Cas says, air quoting like a dork around _husband_. "I can handle _privately displeased_ , but not…'Oh god, I can't bring him in public', while I'm sharing your name," he rambles a bit.

Dean can't help the grin that rises on his face, because nervous rambling is yet another new trait that Cas has revealed, and it's kind of charming in its own way. His grin falters though, as he processes the content of the words. Why would Cas be so self-conscious about such a small thing? It was just a butt grab and a little bit of frenching, and not even done in seriousness. Has someone actually told Cas he was an embarrassment to be seen with? Spontaneity aside, Cas has pretty much always been well mannered, from what Dean has seen.

"Okay, I think we need to get something straight right now," Dean begins seriously. "Manners are all good and well, but I'm no Emily Post, so calm down. Just be a good person, and don't act like a condescending jackass and I'll be fine. And since you're so worried about public behavior, I promise I'll try not to scratch myself when we're out together, alright?" he says with a cheesy grin.

It earns him a huff of laughter, and Cas finally seems to relax, leaning back in his seat a bit and stretching his arms over his head. Similar to the contagiousness of a yawn, Dean also takes a moment to stretch, not even realizing until then that he'd been so tense. He doesn't bother pulling his legs back from where they've invaded Cas' space under the table because he's comfortable, and the man doesn't seem to mind, anyway.

"So…you wanted to talk about touch?" Dean asks, knocking his leg playfully against one of Cas'.

Cas nudges back with his own leg and gives a little smirk. "Well, contrary to my uh, display earlier, I'm actually not so big on PDA, generally speaking. I feel more comfortable keeping it PG most of the time."

"That works for me," Dean nods. "What about in private?"

Cas glances at his already thoroughly peeled beer bottle, and Dean actually watches Cas' shoulders tighten as he bites at his lower lip for a second.

"Like I said last night, I think we'd be wise to get used to touching outside of a sexual context," Cas replies carefully. "But I'm also still interested in sexual context as well," he adds, eyebrow quirked.

Cas is the only person Dean has ever known that could make getting handsy sound like a business proposal. If it weren't for the fact that Cas is obviously still a bit nervous for whatever reason, Dean would probably laugh, but he's not that much of a jerk.

"Well, you've got free reign, here," Dean smirks, gesturing to himself.

Instead of the eyeroll or unimpressed look he'd been expecting, Dean gets a confused head tilt.

"Don’t give me that look," Dean says lightly. "It's not like anyone else is gonna be getting handsy with me any time soon. Might as well enjoy the ride."

Realization seems to dawn then, and Cas' eyebrows go up. "I hadn't even thought about that."

"Yeah," Dean nods tiredly. "We can't exactly give anyone reason to try and invalidate the marriage, if we're gonna be under watch."

Cas visibly deflates, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Dean shrugs. "We already had that arrangement in the works, and I probably wouldn't have been getting any besides you for a while, anyway. No offense, but path of less resistance and all that."

There's a pause, and then, "Did you just call me _easy_?" Cas asks, trying and failing to sound mad.

"Nah, you're too classy for that," Dean winks, grin stretching when Cas tries even harder to look irritated by giving him the squint. "I know your tricks, Cas, stop trying to act like you're offended," he chuckles.

The squint melts into a look of mild annoyance that's much more honest.

"There you are," Dean teases.

Cas pinches his brows and his mouth works and twists for a moment, like he's trying to decide whether to smile or not. "You're being uncharacteristically charming. Should I be concerned? Because I do believe in the existence of extraterrestrial life forms, you know," Cas says dryly.

"That has got to be the most roundabout way to accuse somebody of being body snatched, ever," Dean grins. "But feel free to examine me for suspicious marks, if you're worried about it," he says, waggling his eyebrows.

Cas snorts a laugh and leans his leg more heavily against Dean's.

"That was really terrible," Cas grins, running a hand down one side of his face in a long-suffering gesture.

A small part of his brain is reeling at the fact that Dean is not only being entirely pleasant, but actually flirting with him, and without any real objective like before. However, the larger part doesn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, and goes along with it because...because of reasons.

"What do you mean? That was gold. I saw an opportunity and I took it," Dean says unapologetically.

"And you called _me_ a dork," Cas says, leaning back in his seat, and playing up the sass.

"Dude. You licked my finger in the middle of our _wedding_ ," Dean laughs. "Not that I'm complaining, but you so could've just left it at the knuckle. Shit happens like that all the time."

Cas hums, pulling a thoughtful expression.

"True," he nods, "but I bet you wouldn't find it so dorky if I were to do it in a different setting," he says, eyebrow quirked. And maybe he drops his voice a little, just for effect; he knows how to work with what he's got, so sue him.

Dean leans forward, eyes glinting with interest, and a devastatingly attractive smile tugging at his lips. Cas isn't blind; he's been fully aware of Dean's beauty for years, but he's always recognized it at a distance, similar to watching some majestic creature at the zoo. Right now though, with the man sitting in front of him and giving him all kinds of bedroom eyes, Cas really lets himself admire Dean, and god, it almost hurts to look. No one's face should be allowed that much symmetry, much less such plush, kissable lips and beautiful eyes. And that jawline; Jesus. Cas' eyes drift to Dean's neck, and he doesn't quite mean to lick his lips as he imagines marking it up, but it happens anyway.

"Do I wanna know what's going through your head right now? 'Cause I gotta say, I'm not sure if I should be scared or turned on by the way you're licking your chops," Dean teases.

"Why don't you come here, and I'll satisfy your curiosity," Cas smirks challengingly.

Dean stands up, apparently done with the innuendo, and comes around, offering Cas a courteous hand. As soon as he's on his feet, Dean is using his grip on Cas' hand to tug him toward the bedroom. It's a little abrupt, but Cas doesn't really mind; it's not like he can really say anything, considering the completely unsubtle advances he's made before.

Cas barely bites back a teasing comment when Dean closes the bedroom door behind them, as if they don’t have the whole place to themselves. Some people feel better with it closed though, so he lets it go, especially in light of the fact that Dean is pulling him in close by the waist now.

Just like that day with the closet, there's a tense moment where neither of them seems to know how they want to proceed, made worse by utter quietness of the room. It's almost verging on naïve teenager levels of awkward, until Dean slides one of his hands around to grope at Cas' ass with a smile on his face, and squeezes twice.

"Honk honk," Dean says in a nasally voice.

Cas blinks for a moment, trying to process that Dean actually just did that, before something horribly close to a giggle bursts from his mouth, probably a bit louder than the situation really calls for. Dean looks startled by the sound of Cas' laughter, but starts laughing too, probably more at Cas' reaction than anything.

By the time they've calmed down a little bit, Cas' arms have wound around Dean's waist, and he's getting the last of his hiccupped laughter out, with his forehead pressed to the crook of Dean's neck. He also notices then, that Dean's hands have drifted up the back of his shirt, and are sweeping gently over the skin of his back from the ribs down, as Dean's own chuckles taper off.

"Sorry, it was just getting a little too…" Dean trails off.

"Tense?" Cas supplies.

"Yeah," Dean says, a smile still evident in his voice.

Cas hums an acknowledgement and lifts his head, just enough to press a kiss to the skin next to Dean's collar, earning a soft sigh. So he keeps going, moving up Dean's neck, until he reaches his jaw and nips playfully, letting his hands drop to rest on Dean's hips as he presses a soothing kiss to the nip. When he pulls back, Dean's eyes are still shining with mirth, but there's also a healthy layer of lust there.

Hooking his index fingers in two of Cas' belt loops, Dean starts walking backward toward the bed, pulling Cas along with him. When Dean trips on a shoe by the side of the bed, they fall in a graceless heap on the bed, nearly knocking foreheads, and Cas' knee coming dangerously close to taking out Dean's fun zone. Once they've recovered and it's clear that no skulls or genitals have been harmed, Cas huffs a laugh at how utterly they've managed to destroy any semblance of seductiveness.

"My fun zone!" Cas cries out mockingly, as he crawls off of Dean so they can get closer to the middle of the bed. He's still chuckling as Dean shifts up toward the pillows. "You sounded like Kronk with his spinach puffs."

"Yeah, okay, laugh it up," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "Would've been your fault though, if the goods had been damaged."

Cas feels he should probably try to be nicer, so he makes up for the smirk he can't seem to get rid of by crawling up to straddle Dean's thighs and bend down for a quick kiss. "Well, I'm glad I didn't ruin your puffs," he grins, rocking his hips down playfully.

"Call my balls 'puffs' one more time," Dean says with a small glare, crossing his arms over his chest, and clearly trying to ignore the fact that Cas is still rutting against him.

Dean's dick however, is telling another story, hardening noticeably against Cas' hip, much to Cas' satisfaction.

"You know I'm just going to keep humping you until you stop scowling, right?" Cas says, dragging his hips in a particularly filthy grind, and groaning a little when it brings their erections in contact.

Dean makes a choked off sound in his throat too, but stubbornly refuses to move his arms, glaring at Cas even harder. Cas snorts a laugh and sits up then, pulling his shirt off and tossing it carelessly to the floor, pleased at the way Dean checks him out and licks his lips, almost involuntarily. If Dean didn't want him there, Cas has no doubt that the man would easily toss him off, so he continues the tease and clasps a hand around one of Dean's forearms, pinning them in place...'for balance'- ha- and rubs his ass right against Dean's dick, humming a pleased sound.

That gets him a reaction, Dean muttering a ' _fuck_ ' and hips bucking up to meet Cas on the next two grinds. Cas rewards the reaction by letting go of Dean's arm, feeling a little smug when Dean instantly uses the freedom to start working Cas' pants open, despite the irritated huff the man lets out through his nose.

"Did I just win the stubborn-off?" Cas grins.

"Too horny now to remember what started it, you fucker," Dean mumbles. Then he glances up to catch Cas' eye. "And don't remind me, either," he says, pulling down Cas' zipper a little more forcefully than necessary.

Cas chuckles, and ruts one last time with a wink before crawling off of Dean to kneel next to him. "Yeah, I'd say you're about ready to get those pants off," he says, palming at the bulge in Dean's pants.

"Fuck yeah," Dean agrees, batting Cas' hand away so he can hurriedly get his jeans undone. "You too, Cas," he says pointedly, lifting his hips and pushing his pants and underwear down in one go.

Well. Right to it then.

That's fine with Cas, though, so he moves to stand by the side of the bed to finish undressing. And he's feeling just playful enough that he decides to turn his back and make a show of pushing the back of his jeans down first; if Dean likes his ass, then Cas is going to milk that. Maybe it'll be enough to deflect from the little bit of tummy fluff he's acquired recently.

He hears Dean go still and glances over his shoulder, and sure enough, Dean is completely naked and staring him down with one hand lightly palming at his cock. Cas goes back to stripping down the rest of the way, grinning a little to himself when he hears Dean inhale sharply, then turns around, waiting for approval.

"God _damn_ , Cas," Dean breathes, eyes flicking over Cas from head to toe. He looks like he wants to say something else, but can't quite settle on what to say. Finally he lands on sending a heated look Cas' way and gesturing at him to come back to the bed. "Get over here. I want every inch of that on me."

Cas can't help the grin that spreads on his face at that and goes easily, crawling back up on the bed and straddling Dean's thighs again. He takes a moment to appreciate the man beneath him, privately relieved that Dean isn't super-cut, but just in shape. Overly defined chest and stomach muscles- while nice to look at- have always given Cas the impression of being too hard to be comfortable, lying against. Dean's arms and shoulders on the other hand…

"Jesus, Dean," he murmurs, running his hands over Dean's collarbones, and then over and down his arms to appreciate all that upper body strength, until he has Dean's wrists in his hands. When he glances up to catch Dean's expression, the man is looking at him with open curiosity, and it occurs to Cas that Dean is waiting to see what he'll do. Taking a risk, Cas pushes Dean's arms back above the man's head and leans forward, pinning the man to the bed, and earning a small grin. Huh.

Their faces are only inches apart, so he can easily see the way Dean's eyes dilate when Cas murmurs, "Sometime, when I'm feeling more patient, I'd like to take you apart, and I promise I'll hold you down all you want. But right now I'd like your hands on me, too."

Dean huffs a breath and licks his lips, nodding, not looking at all embarrassed about Cas' assessment of what Dean is wanting. Cas releases his wrists and shifts to rest his weight on his elbows on either side of Dean, wrapping his legs around the outside of Dean's; the man said he wanted every inch of Cas on him, so that's what Cas gives him. A small sigh escapes Dean's nose at all the contact, and he lowers his arms to bring his hands to Cas' shoulders before leaning up to capture Cas' lips in a kiss.

This kiss is nowhere near as aggressive as the ones they shared at work, where they had almost seemed to be trying to outdo each other; no, this feels like much more of a cooperative effort, though no less urgent. Cas can only take it for a minute, before he feels the need to start roaming, and breaks the kiss to start moving over Dean's jaw, mouthing and scraping his teeth and licking his way across. Dean's hands are making these aborted little sweeping gestures over Cas' shoulders, and Cas grins into the skin beneath Dean's ear; just a little bit of foreplay, and Dean's already distracted.

"Am I allowed to leave marks?" Cas murmurs.

Dean swallows harshly and tilts his head back, exposing his neck even more. "Yeah, just nothing like…obscenely large."

Cas doesn't waste a moment mouthing down Dean's neck then, sucking lightly here and there, relishing the little hitches of breath every time Dean thinks that Cas is going to do it. He's not going to make Dean go into work on Monday with a blatant hickey on his neck though, so he waits until he's at the juncture of Dean's neck and shoulder and then sucks harshly; abruptly.

Dean's hips buck up and he grunts a pleased sound, and Cas doesn't resist rolling his hips down, glad for the friction. Their hips seem to find a natural rhythm from there as Cas finds his way back to Dean's mouth, until one of them shifts and it brings their erections together, and they both groan into the kiss.

Typically, this is about the time Cas would be finding out his partner's top or bottom preference, or there would be a blowjob offered in there somewhere, but right now it just feels to good to stop, and Dean doesn't seem inclined to seek anything else either. If anything, he brings his hands down to grip Cas' ass and pull him down for a hard, slow grind that leaves Cas panting.

"Mmmm, fuck!" Dean curses, throwing his head back into the pillows and scrunching his eyes shut.

Cas shifts to get between Dean's legs, and oh- yes- much better, and especially when Dean brings his legs up to wrap around Cas. They're both leaking and making a sticky mess where their cocks are trapped between them, but neither of them seems to care, too caught up in the bliss of friction, and skin, and desperate noises, as they get closer to release.

"Dean, please tell me you're close," Cas gravels after a few minutes, voice breathy with exertion.

Dean surges up to suck at Cas' pulse point then, which does nothing to loosen the pull Cas can feel deep in his gut. "Do it, Cas. Wanna watch you come," Dean husks, leaning back and eyes intent on Cas' face.

As if that's not arousing enough, Dean's hand wanders over to dip a couple of fingers between Cas' cheeks, and Cas can't help the keen that sounds in his throat. Just the thought of Dean filling him is enough to make Cas' hips stutter, and a few short thrusts later, Cas is coming hard between them with a loud, groaned curse. Somehow, he'd even had the presence of mind to push up a little bit so Dean could see his face, but now that he's riding out the aftershocks, his arms and legs are starting to tremble. His eyes are screwed shut with the intensity of it, and he feels Dean's hands shift from where they'd been on his shoulders, to rub soothingly down his arms.

"Fuck, that's a gorgeous sight," Dean murmurs, voice rough and appreciative.

Cas feels his face heat up at the compliment, and almost doesn't want to open his eyes, but he needs to confirm if Dean came or not; he's left the man hanging enough, and doesn't intend to do it again any time soon. He makes it a point not to look at Dean's face and instead lifts his hips enough to take in Dean's state. Sure enough, Dean is still hard, and still leaking. He finally looks up, and though Dean is still obviously on edge, there's a sort of awe beneath it that Cas doesn't know what to do with. Instead, he rolls and collapses next to Dean to catch his breath for a moment. He hears a slick sound and looks over to see Dean finishing himself off, and that's not really fair, even if Dean did insist on Cas getting off first.

Rolling to his side, Cas reaches over and bats Dean's hand away. "My turn," he says simply, wrapping his own hand around Dean's cock.

He can tell by Dean's breathing and the little thrusts of his hips that the man is extremely close, so Cas jacks him tight and fast, swiping his thumb over the head every few passes. Dean makes this hiccupping sort of sound as his cock pulses in Cas' hand, and then he bites down hard on his lower lip to hold in a high-pitched noise as his back arches. He comes with some impressive force, milky release splattering as high as his chest, and eyebrows drawn in pleasure.

Cas works him through it, watching every nuance of Dean's features as he settles, fascinated with how they transition from such intensity to something like surprise for a moment, to 'fuck that feels good' and then finally down to unguarded bliss. It's the last look that has him pulling his hand away and settling it on Dean's thigh, before everything becomes too sensitive. Plus, his own arm is pretty damn tired and could use a rest.

Dean's eyes are still closed, but his face is relaxed and there's a ghost of a smile on his lips as he brings his arm up, feeling around until he finds the top of Cas' head next to him and scratches lightly, apparently not caring about the hair product caught between his fingers. Neither man says anything for a few minutes and they aren't really cuddling, but the silence is easy and companionable.

Inevitably though, they both start to feel sticky and gross, and amble their way to the bathroom. This time when Dean takes the lead in cleanup, Cas isn't surprised, having come to realize that it's just how Dean is; he's a caregiver. What does surprise him though, is when Dean leans in to Cas' side to give him a peck to his temple, then gives him a couple of light smacks on the butt.

"Go on if you want, I just gotta finish up here," Dean says with a small grin, and moving on to take care of himself.

It takes Cas a moment to recover from the unexpectedly affectionate display, as he tries to figure out if he should do something to return it. Dean doesn't seem to be expecting anything though, so Cas just gives him a little half-smile and leaves to get his clothes back on.

Dean's still in the bathroom by the time Cas is finished dressing again, so Cas goes out to the living area, unsure of what else to do but turn on the TV. He's definitely hungry now, but he's also feeling too lazy to do anything about it just yet, so he settles in for some channel surfing and waiting to see what Dean will do.

The thing is, Cas has no procedure for this situation. He's never had a friend with benefits or fuck buddy or whatever he and Dean would be. There have been occasions where Cas and an ex have hooked up a few times, and he's had some one-nighters, but as tends to occur with those sorts of things, someone always leaves after the fact. The only times Cas has stuck around after sex have been while in a relationship, and those situations are no-brainers that involve post-coital flirting and simply enjoying each other's company.

But what are you supposed to do after you mess around with your fake husband/coworker/casual sex partner/person you argue with, while sharing a living space? There are no obvious rules of social etiquette for this situation, and it makes Cas antsy, not having a plan. He pulls the secured phone out of his pocket and opens up the browser, contemplating whether he should find something to entertain himself so he'll look somewhat unaffected and neutral, but figures that might also make him look like an asshole, so he sets the phone on the end table next to him with a sigh.

He's well on his way to fretting when Dean shuffles out and plops down on the couch beside him with a couple bottles of water, handing one off to Cas. There's still a few inches between them, but Dean is definitely closer than Cas would've expected him to be, and Cas tenses with the uncertainty of what's expected of him.

"Calm down, Cas. Just doing the non-sexual context thing like you suggested. Sharing space or whatever," Dean says easily. "Not trying to make you cuddle with me or anything."

Now that he knows exactly what's going on, Cas feels like he can relax, appreciating the straightforward explanation. Leaning back in the cushions, he nods. "Alright."

Cas can't be completely sure, but something like concern flickers behind Dean's eyes before he nods too, and leans back as well. There appears to be a marathon of Mel Brooks movies on, and Dean looks pleasantly surprised that Cas is happy to leave it on Young Frankenstein, and only a couple minutes in, at that. It takes a few minutes, but Cas finally gets used to feeling Dean's body heat at his side, and the occasional knock of Dean's knuckles against the side of his arm as he makes commentary on the movie.

After about half an hour, Dean leans forward to pull the coffee table closer and grimaces for a moment before he straightens back up. Once he has his feet propped up, he digs in his pockets and pulls out his phones.

"Mind to put those on your table? They're digging on me," Dean says, holding out the phones.

Cas deposits them on the table next to his own and settles back in. Dean continues fidgeting for a minute, not seeming sure what to with his arms, and Cas figures it's probably his own fault for being so tense earlier and giving Dean the impression that he's uncomfortable with having him close.

"You can lean if you want," Cas offers, and Dean takes him up on it, muttering a _thanks_.

It's kind of nice, and Cas eventually settles into the feeling of Dean's weight against him, watching the movie with the sort of half-attention that comes with being tired and having too much on your mind.

 

***

 

_"Um…hi. Not to be rude…but who is this?"_

Cas frowns and cracks an eye open at the unfamiliar voice in his ear. "Castiel," he mutters, confused.

He doesn't remembering having fallen asleep, much less answering a phone. Pulling it away from his ear, he looks down and realizes that it's not his phone. And not only that, but the screen is showing the words 'Sam ICE' in bright letters.

Oh. Oh shit. Cas is instantly jolted into consciousness, his pulse thumping harshly. Dean is slumped against his side, snoozing blissfully, and Cas wiggles his shoulder, trying to jostle the man awake.

He pulls the phone back to his ear just in time to hear, _"…Novak?"_

"Um, yes, that's me. I mean, this is he," he fumbles, starting to panic. There's absolutely no way that Dean would be okay with this, and Cas has no clue how to handle talking to Dean's brother. They don't have their story together yet, and Dean is the smooth one, and oh god, why won't the man wake up?

 _"Is that- are you watching Men in Tights?"_ Sam asks incredulously, as if it isn't strange at all to ask a complete stranger about their background noise.

Cas glances up to the TV and sure enough; there is Cary Elwes on screen, smirking like a smug bastard at one thing or another. He doesn't want to hurt Dean, but jostling isn't working, so he elbows the man as gently yet firmly as he can manage, as he speaks.

"Yes, there's a Mel Brooks marathon on right now," Cas says absently, trying not to let on how relieved he is when Dean finally stirs.

Sam hums thoughtfully on the other end of the line, as Dean opens his eyes to give the mother of all confused glares to Cas. "The fuck, Cas?" Dean grumps sleepily. "Better be good. Was dreamin' bout'a threesome with you and Danneel Harris."

Cas cringes at the same time he hears Sam say _Oh, god_ , and thrusts the phone in front of Dean's face so he can see for himself. Dean blinks once, then his eyes fly wide open and the blood drains from his face. Cas brings the phone back to his ear, hoping Sam will segue into asking for Dean.

 _"Um, so I guess you don't hate each other anymore?"_ Sam asks cautiously.

Dean is making grabby hands at the phone, but Cas isn't going to be so rude as to just not answer the man on the phone, so he holds up a finger in a 'one second' gesture.

"I've never hated your brother," Cas says honestly.

Dean stops his movements and frowns, giving Cas the biggest 'screw up and we're going to have words' face he can muster. Cas gives him an unimpressed look, but continues speaking. "But to answer what you're really asking, yes, Dean and I are getting along now."

Cas hears Sam let out a relieved breath. _"Good, that's really good. I'm glad. And I know you know who I am, but all the same, I feel like I should introduce myself properly. So hi, Castiel, I'm Sam, Dean's brother."_

Oh no, Sam is clever, stating his and Dean's relationship to try and weasel out the nature of Dean and Cas'. That, or he's ridiculously polite, but Cas knows that Sam is essentially a lawyer, and wouldn't doubt that it's just cleverness.

"Hello, Sam, it's nice to finally meet you. Well, speak to you, anyway," Cas replies, letting a grin seep into his voice, and mentally patting himself on the back for the save.

 _"You too, man,"_ Sam replies, and Cas detects a note of disappointment. Ha, he totally outsmarted a lawyer.

"Well, Dean is more awake now. Would you like to speak with him?" Cas asks calmly.

 _"Sure, thanks,"_ Sam says, sounding somewhat chipper.

Dean takes the phone with one last glare at Cas, before standing up and going toward the kitchen.

"Hey, what up?" Dean asks, the moment he has the phone cradled between his ear and shoulder.

Cas figures that the conversation isn't for him, and tunes Dean's voice out to nothing but tones. It only barely matters though, because seconds later, Dean is back on the other end of the couch with a beer and shaking his head at him with a stern look as he listens to whatever Sam is saying.

"Yep, um, me and Cas," Dean says, voice nervous now. But then he rolls his eyes and huffs. "Yes, as in _together_ together," he says, tapping a finger against his bottle.

Even from his end of the couch, Cas hears the loud, _"I knew it_ _! I fucking knew it! Jess- you totally owe me a backrub!"_

Dean pulls the phone away and grimaces at the volume, and Cas mouths an earnest 'I'm sorry', to which he gets only a frown. After a moment of some eyerolling at the phone, Dean loses his patience.

"Why'd you call, Sammy?" he asks gruffly.

There's a short pause, where Dean looks even more uncomfortable.

"Hang on a sec, let me ask Cas," Dean says, sounding tired. "Hey, um, babe? You mind if we stop at Sam and Jess' for dinner on the way back, Sunday night?"

The question is asked lightly, but the look on Dean's face is unreadable, and Cas has no clue if the man wants an excuse to get out of the dinner or not. It feels like a test of some sort, and Cas has no idea what he supposed to do to pass. And babe? What?

"That's fine with me, as long as we aren't out too late," Cas replies carefully.

"Yeah, we'll be there around five," Dean says into the phone. Then he lets out a dramatic sigh. There are some pointed words and insults, but they're clearly of the more affectionate nature, and then Dean is saying his goodbyes and hanging up and setting the phone down calmly on the coffee table.

Cas sits up straight in his seat, preparing for whatever wrath Dean may have to rain upon him, eyeing the man like one would a wild animal without a cage between them. It's unnerving, the way Dean won't even look at him, and is sipping too-casually at his beer. After a minute or so of this, Dean finishes off his beer and sets it down on the end table, before turning to finally look at Cas.

"I don't like improvising with my family, Cas," he begins, voice low and calm and terrifying.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. It must have been ringing next to my head and woke me up, but I don't even remember answering. One minute we were watching Young Frankenstein, and then the next, I was talking to Sam and waking up with you all passed out on me," Cas rushes to explain.

Dean quirks a brow as he scrutinizes Cas' face for a moment, before glancing away with a frown and a sigh.

"Dammit, Cas," Dean mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face.

He doesn't look like he's ready to rip Cas a new one now, so at least there's that.

So much for a day to decompress.

 

 

 


	13. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Discussion of Dean's past, as well as a minor injury, so tread carefully if you're sensitive. I don't believe that any of it would count as graphic, but please read the tags if you're concerned, before reading this chapter. If I've missed a tag that you think would be appropriate, drop a comment and let me know, and I'll check it out.

It's surprising to Cas, how crappy it feels to have Dean mad at him for this. It would be different if he'd been _trying_ to get Dean's goat, but he truly hadn't this time; this is a genuine fuck up that wasn't supposed to happen. Cas looks down to pick at a cuticle while he waits on Dean to say whatever he's going to say, feeling almost identical to the one time he'd ever had to go to the principle's office.

For his own part, Dean watches the way a blush has risen up on Cas' cheeks, and the slump of his shoulders. It's confusing, because despite the sort of truce they seem to have called, Dean would've expected Cas to be a little more on the defensive. But no, Cas looks like he wishes the couch would swallow him up, and the face he's making…god, it's horrible. His eyes are all huge and concerned, and his bottom lip is dangerously close to forming a pout. And great, now he's picking at a cuticle. A thirty-four year old man should not be able to look so damned pitiful.

Dean scrubs a hand over his face and lets out a breath, pointedly not looking at the other man. One puppy-facing jerk is enough, but apparently now Dean has two in his life, and so help him if Sam and Cas ever team up against him; Dean knows full well he'll be screwed.

"You gotta stop that, man," Dean mumbles.

"What?"

Dean lets out a frustrated growl. "Look, I'm not mad, I'm just…really fucking stressed, okay?"

He finally chances a look over, and now Cas has his head tilted thoughtfully, a frown pinching at his brows.

"What can I do?" Cas asks softly. "It's my fault, so what can I do to make it better?"

Dean gets the sense that Cas isn't just talking about the Sam snafu, and frowns at the implication. Is Cas seriously still thinking that Dean's blaming him for everything that's happened the last day or so? By the way the man is subtly twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands now, the answer seems to be a resounding yes.

Reaching over, Dean pulls one of Cas' hands free, ignoring the look of confusion on the man's face. The hand is no longer in a fist, but the muscles are still tense, so Dean turns it over to face palm-up and digs his thumbs in, in a sort of improvised massage.

"What are you doing?" Cas asks, voice low.

Dean sighs, realizing that he isn't quite sure what exactly he is doing. He considers his words for a moment, gently working the muscles of Cas' hand, and feeling pleased when they seem to start relaxing.

"I don't know. I just…I wanted you to stop looking so damned upset, okay?" Dean mutters tightly, avoiding Cas' eyes. When there's no response for several seconds, his curiosity gets the better of him, and Dean glances up.

Cas is giving him a curious look, but there's also a ghost of a smile threatening at the corner of his lips. There's no malice or victory in it, just a simple look of appreciation, and Dean feels himself preening internally at his success before he can quite stop himself. He has to look away after a few seconds, because Cas' gaze is turning softer, and Dean doesn't know how to respond to it.

Clearing his throat, Dean turns Cas' hand over and gives it an awkward little pat and puts it back in Cas' lap, ignoring the flicker of disappointment he sees in Cas' eyes.

"We can't tell Sam," Dean says seriously. "I can't get him involved in this. He just got engaged, and he's about to start his life and he's worked really fucking hard to get where he is and I'll be damned if I drag him into my shit."

Cas expected as much and nods. "We'll work it out, Dean. I think we've managed okay so far, so I don't see why this should be all that much more difficult."

Dean sighs, shaking his head as he leans back into the cushions. "No, it's going to be harder."

"Why do you say that?"

A deep frown pulls at Dean's features as he considers his words, rubbing a hand over his own thigh in a sort of self-calming gesture that he probably doesn't realize he's even doing. "I was really hoping the personal shit could wait a little longer," he mutters, jaw clenching.

Cas scoots over to get a little closer, and lays his hand over Dean's to still it, where it's still rubbing over the man's thigh. Dean gives him a confused look, but spreads his fingers in an invitation that Cas takes, to thread their hands together.

"I'm not any more comfortable sharing personal details than you are, but I hope you know that I have no intention of hurting you with anything you tell me. And I'm actually a fantastic secret-keeper, just so you know," Cas says with a small, but encouraging smile. The smile he gets back is just as small and shaky at best, so Cas adds on, "We're on the same team, now, you know. Or partners, if you prefer that analogy. Either way, we've got to have each other's backs from here on out."

Something about that seems to settle something in Dean a little bit, and the man lets out a sharp breath through his nose before he speaks, curling his fingers and Cas' along with them.

"It's going to be hard, because I haven't really done relationships since high school, and my family knows it," Dean says quietly. "The last one I had was four years ago, and it only lasted six months. I was um, I was on the rebound when I was at that Halloween party."

"You're concerned they'll suspect that something is off," Cas guesses, receiving a nod in confirmation. Cas hums thoughtfully, considering the information and how they could work with it. "Dean, I want to help, but I don't think I can without more information. If I'm going to play a convincing role, I need to know first why you've avoided commitment."

At this, Dean draws his hand back and stiffens as he looks away, but Cas expected it and lets it go, making a conscious effort to keep his own face and body language as non-threatening as possible. It takes a minute for Dean to parse out what he wants to say, but Cas waits patiently until Dean is ready.

"I came home on an honorable discharge, after I got fucked up by an IED that flipped my transport. Bunch of internal bleeding and shit- actually, I probably need to tell you about that later- but anyway, after I healed up, I applied for the San Fran P.D. Passed the evals and all that, and landed a spot on S.W.A.T. a couple years later," Dean says, hand starting to rub at his leg again.

"A few months into that job, I met Lisa. She was gorgeous and real, and patient, and a couple months later we moved in together. I'd been doing okay for a while, so like a dumbass, I thought that maybe I was going to be one of those lucky bastards that can come back and have a normal life and move on. I mean, I'd have nightmares and mood swings sometimes, but nothing huge," he pauses with a shrug. "But one night we got the call that there was a hostage situation going on; drug deal that went south. I um, let's just say that I picked a bad time to have a flashback and froze, and nearly got some of my guys killed."

The hand stopped rubbing, but as Dean has been speaking, has started scratching to the point of almost clawing at the outside of his thigh, and Cas is pretty sure it's going to bruise. The mannerisms are something Cas has never seen Dean do before, and he wonders if it's something specifically reserved for when the man thinks about traumatic events. He doesn't know if his touch will still be welcome, but risks it anyway, and grabs the hand to hold it between both his own, heart heavy when he feels the tremor in it. Dean snaps his head over to look at their hands, looking confused for a moment, but doesn't pull away.

"Was I scratching?" Dean asks, looking down.

"Yeah," Cas murmurs, rubbing a thumb along the side of Dean's index finger.

Swallowing thickly, Dean nods, more to himself than anything. "Promise I'm almost done with my sob story," he says, voice small.

"Take your time," Cas soothes.

Dean looks at him oddly, and it takes a moment for Cas to realize that it's skepticism. Considering their history, he can see why Dean would be reluctant to believe that Cas might care, but it doesn't lessen the sting that Dean would think him so cold. Cas knows it's his own fault, and not for the first time, regrets having shown Dean the worst of himself. Some of this must show on his face, because after a few seconds, the skepticism fades back into the hesitant acceptance Dean had had before, and he clears his throat.

"After that, the department forced me to go on leave and see the shrink, but it didn't really help. The nightmares were happening more, and the mood swings started getting out of control, and I tried to keep it away from Lisa, I really did," Dean says, almost pleading for Cas to believe him. "She was so good to me, Cas. Put up with a hell of a lot more than anyone should have to, and especially someone she wasn't even married to. But I fucked it up. Damn near killed her one night, when she tried to get me down from a nightmare. I don't even remember what I was dreaming about, but when I came to, I had my hands around her neck for who knows how long. She was so scared of me. I saw it in her eyes that she thought she was going to die," he says, voice deep and soft as it wavers.

Dean's eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and he looks horrified with himself, as if it all just happened yesterday and not four years ago. Cas can only imagine what Dean must have felt, and because of that soft as cotton candy heart, he finds himself tearing up as well. When their eyes meet, Dean looks stunned at Cas' reaction, but this time Cas doesn't look away in embarrassment at being caught like he did that morning, because he isn't ashamed right now. A long moment passes between them, until Dean sniffs and looks away, squeezing briefly at Cas' hand that's beneath his own.

"I didn't bother waiting for the awkward breakup speech. Just made sure she was alright, and then I packed my shit and left that night. After that I just…" Dean trails off, biting his lip, and shaking his head. "So yeah, since then it's been strictly one-nighters, and never back at my place."

Cas sighs, leaning back into the cushion and closing his eyes, moving his top hand to scratch lightly up and down Dean's forearm. He hears Dean take a shuddering breath, and then his body seems to finally relax back into the seat as well.

"Does your family know about all this?" Cas asks softly, sensing that Dean wouldn't respond well to any verbal consolation; his touch is saying enough.

"Yeah, Sam and Jess know. I never told Jess the details, but I'm pretty sure Sam did. He nags on me all the time about finding a therapist, but I don’t see the point in going. I'm doing better since I started working a steady schedule, and all it would do is stir that shit back up."

At this, Cas sits up again to look at Dean, who already has a frown aimed at him before he even opens his own eyes back up. Cas holds up a hand to stop the argument before it can happen.

"I'm not going to nag you right now, but I am going to say that I don’t disagree with your brother. No one just 'gets over' trauma, Dean, and you're more than smart enough to know that. Just…think about it, please?" Cas asks.

"Why? Scared I'm gonna snap and beat the fuck out of you?" Dean asks, a bitter smirk on his lips.

"No," Cas scowls. "If you were going to do that, you would've done it by now; I've given you more than enough reason," he admits. "And believe it or not, I can hold my own, Dean."

Dean scoffs at that, and Cas has to take a deep breath to calm himself because he knows what Dean is doing; the man is feeling vulnerable now, and trying to bait Cas into a fight. It's not going to work this time.

"I may not have military or police training, but it doesn't mean I can't defend myself. But that's not the point, and you know it," Cas chides him. "All I'm saying is that you shouldn't shoulder it alone, okay?"

"Goddammit," Dean growls quietly, running a rough hand through his hair. "You know what? I think you and Sam are gonna get along just fine," he bites out.

Rolling his eyes, Cas crosses his arms over his chest. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize that that would be a problem," he says sarcastically. "Excuse me for giving a shit."

Apparently, that was the opposite of the right thing to say, because the next thing Cas knows, Dean is flying up off the couch and glaring as he towers above him.

"You know what, Cas? I don't need you to give a shit," Dean says sharply, nostrils flaring and finger pointing. "All I need you to do is smile and look pretty, and not have a meltdown and hyperventilate to death when things get sticky."

Dean knows it was a low blow the moment the words are out, and hates himself a little bit, when Cas only gapes for several seconds. It's too late though. The words are out there, and Dean is feeling trapped in his own skin, and there's nowhere to run and like a fucking hypocrite, yes, Dean is having a meltdown. In front of Cas. Who instead of gaping, is now scrutinizing him in a way that makes Dean wonder for a delirious moment if Cas can see Dean's very atoms with his eyes. The man stands up calmly, with a deep frown knitting his brows and pulling at his lips.

"No," Cas says, voice a deep rumble.

"What do you mean, _no_? I didn't ask a question," Dean spits.

Cas steps closer, right into Dean's personal space, eyes trained on Dean's. It takes every ounce of restraint for Dean not to push him away, but he also isn't going to give Cas the satisfaction of backing up. Instead, he puffs out his chest and straightens his posture in a clear display of dominance that unfortunately, doesn't even seem to register with Cas.

"I know what you're doing, and _no_ , I'm not going to indulge you this time. I refuse to let you use me as a tool to hurt yourself further," Cas says seriously, finally backing up a step. "Once you've calmed down and can come to terms with the fact that I'd rather be your partner than your enemy, you can come find me," he finishes, with an faintly hopeful look.

With that, Cas turns to walk toward the bedroom, pausing halfway to look at Dean over his shoulder. "Thank you for telling me, Dean," he says, almost too softly to hear, and then enters the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Dean's still standing in the middle of the living area, chest puffed out like a pissed off bird, and suddenly realizes how ridiculous he must look, and deflates. His eyes sweep over the whole of the open layout of the cabin, not sure whether he wants to sit down and sulk, or needs to move around and expel some energy. Normally he'd go for a drive and level back out, but the rational part of his brain is still functioning enough to know that it's not an option. Regardless of how chafed he is, Dean isn't going to leave Cas alone and unguarded and without transportation while there could be people creeping around that could want to hurt either of them.

With nothing to clean or fix, and nowhere to go, Dean settles on sulking and goes to the kitchen. He already drank the scotch, but there's vodka, and it seems sort of fitting for his mood somehow, so he grabs it up along with a carton of orange juice and a glass and heads out the back door to the porch.

Settling down in a relatively comfortable deck chair, Dean pours up half a glass of juice and opens up the vodka, taking a large gulp straight from the bottle. The burn is immediate, and especially since it hadn't been chilled, and his whole body shudders before he remembers he has the juice to chase it with. This process continues for the next three swigs, until the vodka that's pooling in his stomach starts spreading its warm little tendrils and creeping into his bloodstream.

Fucking Cas. What the fuck _was_ that?

_Hurt yourself **further**. _

The words circulate around Dean's thoughts, creating a confusing jumble of anger and vulnerability and appreciation that only serves to anger him more, and especially when he thinks about the utter lack of spite on Cas' face. It would be easier if Dean had seen anything resembling pity or condescension, but everything about Cas from voice to face to body language had spelled the truth out, that Cas is concerned. And it's so much worse, because Cas _knows_. He knows, and he's being patient, even going so far as to request friendship, and Dean despises how much he wants it.

It's not because he's put off by the idea of Cas, that's not it at all. The dude has his flaws just like anyone else and has caused Dean a lot of headache, but Dean isn't blind; he can identify a good person when he sees one. And that right there is the problem. What kind of selfish son of a bitch is Dean, that he'd consider pulling a good man down into the muck, because what- he's lonely? It's bad enough that Sam and Jess have had to deal with him, not to mention Lisa. Dean doesn't need another person wasting their time and energy on worrying about him, because that's exactly what it is; a waste. He deserves every inch of self-loathing and loneliness and wishes they would all get it through their heads already. He doesn't deserve earnest blue eyes and soft tones, and Jess' delicate hands wiping away his tears, and his brother's inability to turn him away when he shows up broken on his doorstep.

Dean can identify at a glance when the light is leaving someone's eyes after they've cracked under his ministrations. He knows the sort of desperate confessions a person will babble when they're losing their mind to pain, and every single delicate area of the human body from which to wring that pain. Dean has watched good men burn to death because he couldn't just fucking stand up and deal with his own bodily pain to get to them, and he's watched evil men rape and torture the innocent and stood by in the shadows, in the name of waiting for the command to strike.

And now Cas, who realistically has probably never done more than break someone's nose in a fight, wants to join the parade of people worried about Dean. A semi-manic laugh bubbles out of Dean's throat at the thought because _Christ_ , if the man only knew what he was trying to befriend. Hell, the only reason Dean can allow Charlie's friendship is because they NEVER discuss Dean's issues. She may be aware that they exist and have a good idea of what it's about, but she's never brought it up and always treats Dean as if they could've been old high school friends with normal lives behind them. Charlie doesn't like talking about her past, either.

Dean moves to stretch his legs and is abruptly aware of the heaviness in his limbs and lazily glances down at the bottle in his hand. He doesn't remember drinking a third of the bottle, and the juice glass still has at least four sips left. Huh. Apparently, he quit chasing it at some point. Distantly, he knows that this was probably a really bad idea, considering he's had yet to eat a proper meal all day, but can't seem to find the fucks to give when he's finally starting to feel some blessed numbness, even if it is only physically.

 

***

 

Moments after entering the bedroom, Cas heard Dean poke around the kitchen, before the back door opened and closed. He figured Dean had taken some liquor outside, and though it's not what Cas would've hoped the man would do, he didn't try to stop him, either. Cas simply doesn't know enough about how Dean handles emotional situations to know what is normal for him, and what isn't, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know when a person wants to be alone for a while.

It also doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that after an hour and a half, said person could be well on their way to pickled if they've been drinking on a mostly empty stomach while pondering the most unpleasant parts of their life. There's nothing worth eating in the cabin, so Cas goes out to the kitchen and retrieves the take away menu for the on-site restaurant, pleased when he sees that they offer delivery. After a quick glance through the options, he has the order placed under Crowley's tab, and hangs up, already making his way back to the bedroom; the food will be there in twenty minutes, which should give him enough time to hunt down some ibuprofen and look through Dean's bag for some more comfortable clothes before convincing the man to come inside. While in the bedroom, he risks a glance out the French doors that lead to the porch, and sure enough, Dean is sprawled out in a wicker chair, and what looks like a little more than half a bottle of vodka resting lazily in his hand as he stares out into the night.

Cas sighs heavily at the sight and turns away, wishing there was more he could do. For now though, this is what he can do, so Cas goes to the living room, ready to hunt for the clothes. No sooner has he crouched down to open Dean's bag, when there's a loud clatter outside, followed by the sound of glass breaking, a thump, and then a muttered curse. Springing up, Cas sprints to the back door and swings it open, only to find Dean on his hands and knees in the middle of the remnants of what must have been a drinking glass; the liquor bottle is sitting perched and in-tact on the hand railing.

"Do not move, I'll be right back," Cas says sternly, then goes back in to put on his shoes.

Surprisingly, Dean is exactly where he left him by the time Cas gets back, though whether it's because the man needs to gather his bearings or actually listened is anybody's guess. Cas picks his way around the worst of the glass, and is leaning over to get a hand under Dean's armpit when the man flails an arm out, shooing him away.

"Go'way," Dean slurs.

"Nope," Cas says. "Sorry, but you're stuck with me."

Dean makes a sort of combination groan and growl that Cas ignores, working instead to get a firm hold of Dean's arm, glad that he doesn't get swatted away this time. Once securely braced, Cas stands back up, hauling Dean with him with a warning of, "Up we go."

Now upright, Dean wavers on his feet, but isn't so far gone that he needs to lean, which is better than Cas had expected. He still doesn't let go though, wrapping an arm around Dean's and leading him toward the door, careful to make sure the man doesn't bang into the edge of the door. As soon as they're inside and the door is closed again, Cas puts a hand to Dean's chest to stop him. Grabbing a chair from the table, Cas brings it over to rest next to Dean, who sits down in it without prompting.

"Hold up your hands so I can see your palms," Cas orders.

Dean gives him a glare but complies, and Cas lets out a frustrated sigh when he sees a slice running along the outer edge of Dean's left hand, and a couple of small pieces of glass embedded in the palm of his right. The slice is bleeding pretty well, but it's sluggish, so probably not bad enough to need stitches, thankfully. He glances down to Dean's knees then, and sure enough, there's tiny shards reflecting off the material of his jeans.

"I'm going to strip you down so we don't track glass all over the place," Cas informs him.

"Should'nya buy me dinner first?" Dean replies, though he doesn't look all that amused.

"Technically, I already did. Dinner will be here in just a minute," Cas says, already tugging at the hem of Dean's t-shirt. "Reach for the sky," he adds, when Dean doesn't show any sign of helping in the effort.

Dean chuckles a little and puts his arms up. "My mom used to say that when I's little, gettin' ready for bed."

Cas can't help but give him a little grin, before pulling the shirt over Dean's head, careful not to let the sleeves catch on his hands. Tossing the shirt aside, Cas crouches down and goes for Dean's shoes, inspecting them for glass before attempting to unlace them, and deeming them safe, pulls them off and tosses them behind him.

"Why're you doin' this, Cas?" Dean asks tiredly.

Frowning at the question and not quite understanding why Dean would think Cas wouldn't do this, he taps the inside of Dean's calf and says, "Spread 'em." Dean shoots him an amused look but does as he's told, and Cas uses the space to lean in closer so he can get to Dean's belt without rubbing his own clothes against Dean's jeans.

"You're drunk and injured and I don’t want us to track glass slivers all over the place. Why wouldn't I do this?" Cas asks, knowing Dean probably won't remember this conversation later, but unable to just ignore him either.

Dean doesn't say anything for a minute, while Cas works his belt, button, and zipper down on his pants. "Wrists on my shoulders, then lift," he orders, getting his fingers curled around the material of the waist.

It takes a second of squirming, but Dean manages to lift his hips, and Cas carefully peels the jeans down so they end up inside out and hopefully, contain the slivers until he can get them outside and shaken out later. He wads them up carefully and sets them next to the chair, before using Dean's knees to lever himself up from the floor. When he looks down, Dean is watching him with the glazed puzzlement that only the drunk can muster.

"'S'not what I meant," Dean says, a frown pinching at his brows.

"What did you mean, then?" Cas asks. "And come on, let's go to the bathroom so I can look at your hands."

Dean doesn't move, and if anything, seems to have a moment of clarity, jaw setting for a few seconds. "You're bein' nice and shit and I don't get it. What d'you want with me?"

Cas knows that Dean isn't talking about helping out an inebriated friend, but he isn't about to have a conversation about it without Dean being sober. "We'll talk about this tomorrow, once you've had food and rest and recovered from the hangover you're going to have."

"What if I don't wanna talk about it tomorrow?" Dean challenges petulantly.

"Then we won't," Cas says with shrug.

Dean pulls a face at that and stands up slowly with a heavy sigh. "Know what I meant, Cas."

Cas runs a hand over his mouth. "Yes, I know, Dean. But there's no sense talking about this now, when you aren't sober enough to do it. Now come on," he says, turning to go to the bathroom.

Dean shuffles behind him, and Cas can't help but wonder at the fact that the man is actually letting Cas order him around. It's surprising, but Cas is grateful that Dean is being pliant for the moment and not fighting him or being belligerent. He doesn't know if it's the booze, or a result of whatever Dean was thinking about out there, or maybe a combination of both, but either way, it's certainly making it easier to take care of him.

Dean climbs up on the counter with the sinks while Cas fetches a first aid kit from the small linen closet in the bathroom, and already has his hands held out when Cas gets back to him. Neither man says a word as Cas works, first tweezing the glass from the one hand, then moving on to inspect the other. Just as he suspected, the slice is just shallow enough to not need stitches, but it's going to hurt like a mother later.

"Sorry, this is going to sting, but I'll try and be gentle. If it were up to me, I'd be using Bactine, but all we have is alcohol wipes, here," Cas mutters, ripping open one of the little foil packets.

As he turns Dean's hand to get a good angle, Cas glances up to make sure Dean heard his warning, but the man's looking down at his lap, a thoughtful frown on his face.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, I heard ya," Dean mumbles.

"Okay, here we go," Cas warns, swiping the cloth as carefully as he can, grimacing when Dean hisses and flinches at the burn. "Sorry," he says, moving as efficiently as he can.

Thankfully, the antiseptic cream is the kind with the little bit of numbing agent, and Dean relaxes a bit as Cas dabs it on. He's reaching for the bandage, when Dean speaks.

"You've always had careful hands. Should'a been a doctor or a...a musician or somethin'," Dean says.

Cas pauses, trying understand where Dean would have picked up that observation, much less long ago enough to use the word 'always'. Oddly, a small grin tugs at Dean's lips before he clarifies.

"Was watchin' the way you worked that coffee machine that day. Everything all perfectly timed and just right. Even your stupid handwriting's nice," Dean rambles. "They're good hands."

A grin tugs at Cas' mouth before he can stop it. "Thank you, Dean."

"I mean it," Dean says, voice a bit louder.

Cas chuckles as he peels the bandage paper open, then removes the bandage. "I know you do," he says, pulling back the flaps covering the sticky part. Lining up the pad so that it covers the slice just right, he presses it down and runs his thumb along the edges to make sure it's secured. On a whim, he lifts Dean's hand to press a kiss to his palm, smiling when he sees the dumbfounded look on Dean's face as he pulls away. It may be a bit cowardly, but it's easier for Cas to experiment with this sort of affection, when he knows that Dean probably won't remember it. For now, Cas just enjoys being able to do something nice for Dean for once; it hasn't escaped Cas' notice, that Dean has taken care of him several times now, and Cas has had yet to return the favor.

"How are you feeling? You think you can eat something for me?" Cas asks.

"Whad'ya think? I feel drunk," Dean sasses. "Guess I could eat though. But I'm not puttin' on pants. Fuck that noise."

Cas snorts a laugh and gathers up his mess, tossing it in the trash as Dean slides off the counter. "Alright then," Cas shrugs, then turns on the water to wash his hands.

"You don’t care?" Dean asks, peering at Cas through the mirror, over his shoulder.

"No," Cas shakes his head. "I live alone, Dean. Do you really think I don’t wander around my house in my underwear when I feel like it? I don't have any room to talk."

"Huh," Dean says, handing Cas a hand towel when the water shuts off.

"Whatever impression you might have of me from what you've known of me at work is probably very wrong," Cas says, tossing the towel down on the counter.

They exit the bathroom, Cas following behind Dean, and surprised at how steady Dean's steps are as they go to the kitchen. Before they can even pull a chair out, there's a knock at the door signaling the arrival of their food. Delivery boy tipped and door locked, Cas brings the food over and starts pulling boxes out of the bag it all came in. They settle in at the table, Cas pushing a bottle of water over to Dean, who makes a face, but Cas senses it's less about the water, and more about the fact that Cas isn't giving him an option. Dean does seem pleased though, when he opens up his takeaway box and finds a bacon cheeseburger and fries, with all the toppings in a separate container, so he can pick what goes on it.

"I didn't know how you take your burgers," Cas shrugs, when Dean gives him a look like Cas might just very well be Jesus.

"You jus' got a point on Sammy," Dean declares, putting just the lettuce and pickles on, before moving on to try and open up a ketchup packet. It takes a couple of tries, but he eventually gets it. "Kid always tries to sneak in veggie burgers with extra veggies, like I won't notice. 'S bullshit. You don't fuck with a man's burgers."

"I like veggie burgers," Cas confesses, earning a disapproving look. "What? Time and a place," he shrugs.

Dean grunts a vague reply, already focused on his food again. Conversation goes nonexistent for the next several minutes, as Cas devours a salad and a large slice of lasagna, and Dean makes borderline obscene noises around bites of his own meal. Dean's starting to look a little less glazed as the minutes go by, rolling his eyes when Cas looks pointedly at the bottle of water every so often, but drinking it anyway. Sometime around finishing the burger, Dean starts looking tired, zoning out a bit as he munches on his fries, and Cas knows the man isn't going to make it much longer.

"You're sleeping with me tonight," Cas states, when Dean happens to glance up at him.

"No I'm not," Dean says, face going dark.

"Yes, you are. You need to be near the bathroom in case you wake up sick, because I'm not cleaning out a trashcan to set with you out here, and I'm not sleeping on the couch either," Cas argues.

Dean's eyes go surprisingly sharp, considering how much alcohol must still be in his system. "No," he growls. "You know why."

"I'm a light sleeper, and I'm not worried about it," Cas says, crossing his arms over his chest. "And besides, I don't want you sleeping alone tonight."

Dean stares him down for several seconds, then sits back in his seat, crossing his own arms. "Not up to you, Cas."

"That's true," Cas nods, "but I would appreciate if you would just trust me with this one last thing tonight. I'm completely aware of what I'm asking."

Going on the layman's knowledge of PTSD that Cas has, he can only assume that stress and emotional situations would make for a bad night and frankly, he isn't comfortable with leaving Dean out in the living room where he can't keep an eye on him. Add on to that the possible vomit factor, and the couch is just not a good option. Dean gives him another long look before he responds.

"Okay, you think you can handle it, prove it. Prove you're strong enough to handle me if I go apeshit on you," Dean says.

Cas is as done with his meal as Dean seems to be, so he stands up and comes around the table. Dean pushes his chair out a little to make room for whatever Cas is going to do, and Cas only gives a second to consider, before hauling Dean up to his feet by his armpits, earning a startled noise. Careful to move just right so he doesn't upset Dean's stomach unnecessarily, Cas shifts and sweeps Dean up into his arms into a bridal position and is carrying him off to the bedroom, before Dean seems to catch up a second later with a belated, "Oh shit."

Dean is every bit as heavy as he looks, and Cas spares a moment to feel grateful that he hasn't lost all of his muscle, in the months since he's been able to run regularly. Still though, he hauls the man to the bed and dumps him down on it with a grunt, before climbing on right after and pinning Dean to the bed by his wrists, and thighs squeezing at Dean's sides to keep him in place.

Dean's eyes are practically bugging out while he heaves deep breaths, as if he were the one that just did all the work.

"What the fuck, Cas?!" he nearly shouts, already wriggling to try and escape.

Cas tightens his grip just to prove his point, though he's certain that if Dean was desperate to get loose, the man probably knows all kinds of nifty moves that could dislodge him. "You said to prove myself."

Dean blinks a few times and then stills, letting out one last deep breath before letting his head drop back in defeat. "You're stronger than you look."

Letting Dean's wrists go, Cas climbs off of him with a chuckle, moving to stand by the side of the bed. "So?" he asks, holding his hands out at his sides.

Sitting up slowly, Dean looks at him with a long-suffering look, before finally sighing and letting his shoulders slump. "Don't wanna hurt you, Cas," he mutters.

"You won't."

"You don't know that," Dean argues. "And I still don't know why you're doin' this."

Cas moves to the head of the bed, getting the pillows back in order from where he'd made of a mess of them in his sleep; he rarely bothers making a bed and today was no exception.

"If you still want to talk, we'll do it tomorrow," he repeats himself, then starts emptying his pockets onto the nightstand. "Go do your night time thing, and I'm going to go clean up our mess real quick."

Dean watches Cas stride out of the bedroom, and knows that there's no point in fighting it tonight. At this point, Dean is tired and full and the room is taking on an unpleasant spin that makes him grateful for the bed. The anger and clashing volatile emotions fizzled out a couple hours ago, leaving him somewhat drained, and brain fried. Or maybe he'd just needed to have a good old-fashioned outburst from all the stress as a sort of catharsis. Either way, he resigns himself to turning his mind off for the rest of the night, including the voice that reminds him of what a bad idea this is. Cas knows what he's getting into, and if the stubborn bastard really wants to get tangled up in this shit, then fine, let him see what he's signing on for.


	14. "Husbands" Faces

The first time Dean wakes up, it's still dark in the room, and his breath is coming in sharp huffs as a hand cards lazily through his hair. He snaps his head over, confused until he makes out the vague shape of Cas next to him, shushing him. It feels like the room is moving without him, and the sheets are sticking to his back where he's sweating.

"You're okay," Cas murmurs, voice thick from sleep.

There's a little bit of shuffling, and then a bottle of water being pressed against his arm. Dean leans up just enough to take a few sips and hands it back before rolling to his side to face away from the other man and ease the protest of his own stomach. A cool hand presses to the back of his neck briefly, and then Cas is blowing a cool stream of air onto Dean's neck that gives him a pleasant shiver. It keeps up for several more seconds, and does wonders to settle him again. The hand returns to his skin, but this time to sweep down the length of his arm a few times, from shoulder to elbow.

"Go back to sleep, Dean," Cas yawns out.

And Dean does.

 

***

 

The next time he wakes, Dean is hit with a few too many sensations to make sense of for a moment. His head is pounding, his mouth and throat feel stuffed full of cotton, his entire front side is hot, and his back is cold. There's also a soft rhythmic click and hum above him that takes a moment to parse out as a ceiling fan, and now that he's aware of it, can feel the breeze of it washing over his back and sending up a flare of goosebumps. Instinctively he huddles in closer to the warmth at his front, even though he's sweating against it, and that's when he's hit with the last sensation.

Dean is achingly hard.

He probably wouldn't have noticed it for a while, if it weren't for the fact that in his huddling, he pushed his erection right against a perfectly warm, supple ass. Out of all the sensations he's feeling, this is a welcome one, and without a thought, he does it again. Dean is awake enough to know that he's hung over and that it feels nice pushing his dick against the body in front of him, but that's about as far as his brain cells are taking him. But then the pressure increases as the body pushes back, and a quiet moan escapes his mouth, the vibration of his own throat pulling him further into consciousness.

He cracks an eye open, noting that by the light in the room, the sun hasn't been up all that long, then immediately drops his eyes to the head of dark hair in front of him. The events of the previous day come trickling back, as he notes the throb in his left hand where it's resting over Cas' stomach and yeah, he should probably stop humping the guy. Dean tries to pull back, but Cas just follows the movement with a grumpy sound, pushing his ass back against Dean's hips, and Dean isn't sure if the man is awake or not. His question is answered seconds later, when Cas huffs another annoyed sound.

"I was enjoying that, if that's what you're worried about," Cas grumbles, voice deep and graveled from disuse.

The sound of it sends Dean's cock jerking, and he doesn't resist the urge to rub up against Cas again because fuck it, that was an invitation. Dean's hand wanders down to palm lightly at Cas' own morning wood, and Cas gives a contented sigh and pushes into it with a slow roll of hips that leads to several minutes of quite possibly the laziest dry humping that Dean has ever been party to. He doesn't let himself think about anything more in depth than _mmm, that's nice_ because the alternative would be a barrage of thoughts like _damn this hangover, holy hell I slept next to Cas, did I wake up last night?, fuck I woke up last night, Cas brought me down._

Without meaning to, the thoughts that should've gone ignored end up becoming very conscious thoughts that leave Dean heaving a frustrated breath. He doesn’t want to think about this crap right now, it's too early, and all he wants to do is pretend for just a little longer that he's Parallel Universe Dean, who gets to wake up on a Saturday morning and lazy hump his way into an orgasm to start his day.

But he's not that Dean. He's Shit-Tastic Universe Dean, living his shit-tastic life, hung over in his dickhead boss' cabin in fucking Wine Country, and rubbing himself like a horny cat against Castiel freakin' Novak. Er, Winchester. _Fuck_. His ring finger twitches in a subconscious move before he plans on it, and the slice on his hand throbs simultaneously with the metal of his _wedding band_ rubbing against his pinkie and middle finger.

"Dean?" Cas asks quietly, reaching down to touch the top of Dean's bandaged hand, where it's still pressed against him.

Dean allows himself a moment of procrastination and buries his forehead in the hair at Cas' nape, letting out a long breath as he sort of pets apologetically at Cas' dick. Nope, definitely too early to be getting the concerned voice, and especially when Dean is positive that Cas played nurse to his pathetic ass all night.

"That can wait," Cas says pointedly, when Dean presses down harder, trying to make up for it all. Then Cas is gently nudging Dean's hand away and rolling over to face him.

Their bodies aren't touching, but Dean can feel the heat radiating off of Cas beneath the sheets and internally rolls his eyes at himself for wishing Cas would touch him again. When did he get so needy?

"How are you feeling today?" Cas asks, pulling the covers up higher, to snuggle them up around his shoulders, apparently feeling the chill of the room just like Dean.

It's kind of adorable, the sight of Cas all mussed hair and sleepy eyes and rosy cheeks peeking out of the covers, and it's not fair, with all that earnestness in his stupid fucked-out sounding morning voice. Dean has to roll over because worrying about what his own face is showing is something he is just not up to yet.

"Raw," Dean answers honestly, figuring it encompasses pretty much everything.

Cas hums behind him, and then a dry warm hand comes to rest hesitantly on Dean's shoulder blade, that he arches into without quite planning to. Blessedly, Cas sees fit to take it as permission and runs his palm over Dean's back, the heat from his hand seeping in beautifully where Dean's skin is still cold.

"You're cold," Cas says, grabbing for the covers and pulling them up higher on Dean's back.

"Thanks, mom," Dean mutters, though there's no heat behind it. Truthfully, he appreciates the small gesture more than he cares to let on.

Cas huffs and flicks him on a rib beneath the covers, then pulls his hands back to himself, which is the opposite of what Dean wants. Like hell is he going to ask for what he wants though, because his pride can't take it, outside of sexual situations. If he just insinuates though, and it happens to be taken the right way, then that's not so bad, right?

Rationalized out, Dean arches his back toward Cas in a full-body stretch that just happens to leave him closer to Cas, once he relaxes back out of it.

"Oh, for the love of," Cas murmurs, voice obviously humored. "Dean, would you like me to-"

"Whatever," Dean cuts him off with a half-shrug. _Don't say it, Cas, please don't say it._

The eyeroll he receives is so strong that he doesn't have to see it, to damn near feel it, touching the back of his head as Cas shuffles closer. Then there's an arm being slung over his waist, and Cas is tucking himself up against Dean's back, and there's six feet of gloriously warm and almost naked Cas pulling him in. Dean can't help the contented sigh he breathes out through his nose when one of Cas' legs wedges in between his own, and they're both settled in.

Shit-Tastic Universe can just hold up for a while, because this is being freely offered and feels way too good to not take advantage of.

They stay that way for an indeterminate time, both men enjoying that sort of half-doze, mostly conscious, but relaxed enough to not care whether they fall asleep again or not. Dean doesn't even realize that Cas' fingers have been tracing idle patterns over his stomach, until the motion stops, and a reluctant sigh tickles his neck.

"I have to pee," Cas mutters, sounding personally offended at his own body. "Don’t feel like moving."

The grumpiness and the way Cas presses his face into the back of Dean's neck, as if proving a point to his own bladder have Dean snorting a laugh, despite the fact that he feels like road kill. Cas grunts another sound at that.

"I get the impression you're mocking me," Cas mutters dryly, lips just barely brushing against the back of Dean's neck as he speaks, sending an involuntary wave of goosebumps washing over Dean's shoulders.

"Just didn't take you for a cuddler, and never in a million years, with me," Dean replies.

"Yes well, there are many things you don't know about me," Cas says primly. "And I've gotten a little more used to you now, so there's that. If you'd rather I," he trails off, starting to pull away.

Dean huffs and grabs at Cas' hand where it's on his ribs now, and tugs it back down toward his stomach.

"Come back, asshat, I wasn't criticizing. Geez," Dean says, figuring it's too late to pretend he isn't enjoying the closeness, and Cas doesn't seem inclined to mock him for it, anyway.

Settling in again, Dean barely holds back another snort of laughter when Cas practically burrows into Dean's back, as if this is totally normal and not one of the strangest turns of events in either of their lives, but here they are. He huffs something resembling a laugh at the absurdity of his life at the moment, and Cas hums a questioning sound behind him. Dean responds in kind with a grunt that vaguely makes the 'I don't know' sound, not feeling like answering because he's warm and sleepy again. Unfortunately, Cas' bladder really isn't having it anymore, though.

"Okay, actually have to go, now," Cas mutters, pulling back. "And I'm taking first shower."

"'M'kay," Dean mumbles, rolling into the warm spot Cas left. Fuck it, they aren't doing shit today, and Dean's still hungover, so he's going to sleep in if he damn well pleases.

 

***

 

By unspoken agreement, Saturday passed without a single serious word uttered, and certainly nothing about Dean's meltdown the night before. No plans, no plots, no uncomfortable emotional lapses; nothing but a calm façade of vacationing. The spa was visited for the couple's massage that was included in their "honeymoon package", and meals were eaten. TV was watched, naps were had, and it was overall a nice, peaceful day of denial, despite the thick tension of unanswered questions and uneasy glances that weren't meant to be seen. By this logic, Cas privately thought Dean would likely be safe from the worst of the nightmares, so he didn't demand Dean's presence in the bed. Not that Dean didn't notice that Cas left the bedroom door open in a sort of permission, if Dean changed his mind, of course.

Dean would be lying if he claimed that he didn't consider going in there, because really, waking up in a comfy bed with Cas was much nicer than waking up alone on a couch, with a crick in his neck. Still though, after his behavior the night before, Dean felt like he needed to re-establish some semblance of having his shit together, and somehow it seemed like he wouldn't accomplish that if he went in there, so he resigned himself to the couch for the night.

The illusion of leisure from the day before came crashing down quickly though, when Dean woke on Sunday to the smell of coffee, and found Cas writing diligently on a notepad at the table, already fully dressed and into what was likely his second cup. When Dean peaked over Cas' shoulder on his way to the coffee pot, Cas simply passed the pad to him, and Dean was greeted with a list of things they needed to discuss by the end of their stay that day. He saw some key words, but didn't bother reading in detail. Without a word, Dean had handed it back and continued on his mission to get caffeine, then settled on the couch to watch CNN to help get his brain going. Eventually, Cas joined him, even being so nice as to butter Dean up for the early conversation with a fresh refill on his coffee.

Despite the fact that Dean had no desire to jump right back into business, something about Cas' controlled demeanor- similar to the one he carries at work- was oddly stabilizing, and they managed to get a surprising amount cleared up by noon. It almost felt like they were strategizing a plan of attack for a battle, and Dean had sunk into it, glad to do something familiar to him. They paused for a quick lunch ordered in, having saved the likely most time-consuming topic for after they'd eaten: the backstory.

By the time they'd gotten their plan together and needed to pack up and check out from the spa, both men were mentally tired, emotionally wound up, and tense with anticipation for what was to come. Neither of them felt confident with their plan for dealing with dinner at Sam's, but after two hours of discussion, it became clear that there were just too many variables to consider, to make much of an airtight story.

So they'd settled on a vague, semi-truthful divergence from what they've actually been doing. Dean had also been subjected to a full ten minutes of practicing looking unperturbed by Cas making declarations of love, as well as how to return them without looking like he was having an aneurysm. Because like it or not, if Dean couldn't handle the 'love you's' with who is supposed to be his husband, there's no way in hell they'd convince anyone of anything. Those ten minutes had been _far_ beyond uncomfortable, but by the end, Dean had at least stopped blushing and tripping over his words as much, and Cas had managed to hold eye contact while each of them said it, and that had to be good enough.

 

***

 

"And you're sure they'll buy it?" Cas asks for the second time, now that they're only minutes away from Sam and Jess'.

Dean sighs and casts an irritated glance at Cas, who's rubbing the tip of his index finger against the seam of his jeans at his knee.

"You can't fidget like that when we get there. It's your tell. And yes, because think about the details we'd have to give; no one wants to hear about a person's moment of romantic clarity while they were supposedly having vigorous surprise buttsex, and much less from their brother," Dean replies.

Cas snorts a laugh and relaxes minutely. "Vigorous, huh?"

"Would you prefer enthusiastic? Or maybe athletic?" Dean sasses, his lips quirking in amusement.

"You seem awfully confident in your ability to get me riled up enough for that," Cas deadpans.

"Uh, _yeah_. Because I've seen it with my own eyes, dude," Dean scoffs.

"Oh, Dean. You think that was me all riled up?" Cas taunts. "I think I've seen far more of you getting riled up than vice versa."

Dean scowls at the truth of it and doesn't respond as he pointedly keeps his eyes on the road, even when Cas reaches over and takes his hand, threading their fingers together. Dean lets him do it, and wants to scowl more at the fact that he's getting used to the feeling of their palms pressed together. He can't quite manage the harsh look he's trying for though, and especially when Cas sighs from the passenger seat and squeezes Dean's hand briefly.

"I'm nervous," Cas admits. "What if they believe the story but simply don't like me? That's almost as bad, and we don't need the added stress of dealing with family drama."

They're pulling onto Sam's street now, and Dean frowns as he slows down to get ready to turn into his brother's driveway; he hadn't even considered the possibility that Sam and Jess simply wouldn't _like_ Cas.

"I don't think it'll be an issue. But if it happens, it happens. As far as they'll know, you're my husband and I chose you, so they can kiss my ass if they don't like it," Dean says, now pulling up next to Jess' little Honda that's seen better days. "Fake or not, I'm not gonna let anyone bad mouth my husband, you got it?"

Cas gapes a little; he had honestly not expected that Dean would be so willing to stand up for him.

"What?" Dean asks.

"I just didn't," Cas trails off, shaking his head. "Thank you," he says instead.

Dean cocks his head a bit, as if confused about Cas' gratitude, but then seems to mentally shrug and turns his body to fully face Cas.

"We gotta get our husbands faces on," Dean says, releasing a soft breath through his nose. "Come here and kiss me for a sec, let me get into character," he adds, sounding almost bored.

Cas rolls his eyes at the ridiculousness of his life, but scoots across the seat to press a gentle kiss to Dean's lips. It's only seconds before Dean starts deepening the kiss, and Cas pulls back with a disapproving huff.

"You can't kiss me like that; it's too sexual for polite company, and needs to be gentled into romantic. Try again, but this time, follow my lead," Cas orders. "And we're in character as of now."

Dean looks a bit embarrassed at having his kissing critiqued, but seems to push it down with a nod and lets out a deep, calming breath. Satisfied, Cas brings a hand up to cup Dean's jaw and comes in for just as soft a kiss as before, pleased when Dean actually does follow his lead, keeping it closed-mouth and slow for a few seconds before they part.

"I love you," Cas murmurs, stroking a thumb over Dean's cheekbone. His voice is gentle, but his eyes flash a look that _dares_ Dean to react the wrong way. To Cas' surprise, Dean reacts entirely appropriately, as he lets a small smile lift his lips, even bringing up a hand to rest on Cas' neck.

"Love you too, babe," Dean murmurs, holding a surprising amount of eye contact.

Cas smirks in amusement at the endearment he's been called twice now, to which Dean _does_ react. And just like that, the act is broken.

"What? You making fun of my pet name?" Dean asks testily.

"No, Dean. Not making fun. It's just unexpected."

Dean pulls back with a sarcastic smile. "Yeah, well there's plenty you don't know about me, either," he says petulantly.

Cas rolls his eyes for what feels like the millionth time and makes for his side of the car to get out. Before he opens the door though, he looks over his shoulder. "Seriously though, I'll follow your lead on navigating your family, but for the romantic stuff, you might should follow mine, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm married to the guy with actual experience in these things," Dean says, a touch bitterly.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No, you're right," Dean cuts him off. "Just…you're gonna have to carry the weight there."

Cas reaches over to squeeze reassuringly at Dean's shoulder. "We'll get it done, Dean."

Dean doesn't look overly convinced, but reaches for his own door anyway, and hefts himself out. Cas follows suit, and as soon as they're close enough, they reach for each other's hands as they make their way to the door. Dean doesn't bother knocking, simply letting the both of them in, and calling out, "Samsquatch! Jess-a-frass! We're here."

"We're in the kitchen," Jess' voice floats out from another room.

Cas swallows harshly, hit with just how _real_ this is, and that they have approximately thirty seconds before there's every possibility that all hell might break loose, and Cas has no idea what to expect from Dean's brother if he does respond badly. Cas doesn't realize how tightly he's squeezing Dean's hand until Dean leans in to whisper teasingly, "I kinda need those bones in my hand, Cas."

"Sorry," Cas whispers back, loosening his grip but not letting go.

"You gotta relax, alright? Like you said, we'll get it done," Dean says, pausing before they reach the kitchen to offer Cas a small but reassuring smile. He also takes a moment to undo one of Cas' shirt buttons, smooth out invisible wrinkles in his shirt, and pick at Cas' hair. It's becoming an oddly comforting gesture, having Dean do these little spot-checks of Cas' grooming, and he stands still to let Dean do what he will.

"Thank you," Cas offers weakly, wishing he could do something to return the sentiment, but at a loss for what he could do. Dean doesn't seem to mind though, and gives him a friendly little wink before putting a hand to Cas' lower back and ushering him into the kitchen, the two walking in side by side.

Sam and Jess are both leaning against the counter top drinking a glass of wine, and look up in unison at Dean and Cas' arrival before setting their wine glasses down. And wow, Dean was _not_ kidding when he described Sam as a moose of a man. It's almost comical, how small Jess looks standing next to him, but they also somehow look right together, and Cas can't help but smile a little bit.

"Hey guys," Dean greets with a cheerful grin.

Jess immediately comes in for a hug that ends up with Dean picking her up off the floor, chuckling at her surprised squawk. Sam smiles at the sight for a moment before turning to extend a giant hand out to Cas, which Cas takes in a firm handshake.

"Sam Winchester. And that's Jess, my fiancée," Sam says with a nod toward the petite blonde woman, smile still on his lips. "Nice to have a face to put with the voice, Castiel," he adds.

The demeanor may be warm, but Cas doesn't miss the assessing look in Sam's eyes. "Likewise," Cas replies with polite smile.

"Damn, Dean, you don't fuck around, do you? He's as pretty as you are," Jess says, pulling Cas' attention to her with a bit of surprise at both hearing the profanity from such a sweet-looking woman, and the blunt declaration.

Dean seems to puff up a little bit, slinging an arm around Cas' waist and pulling him into Dean's side. "Damn skippy. My husband's fuckin' hot," he blurts, realizing immediately that he'd let it slip too soon, and grimacing.

"Your what?!" Sam and Jess exclaim in unison, eyes wide.

"Shit," Dean mutters under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. This is not at all how he'd planned on bringing it up. Not that he'd had a concrete plan, but he'd at least hoped they could make it until dinner is on the table. "Um, sorry. That's not at all how we were planning on telling you."

"What the hell, Dean?!" Sam nearly shouts, looking utterly boggled, and at a loss for how else to respond.

Jess, on the other hand, has already grabbed Dean's hand, inspecting the ring with no small amount of wonder, eyes darting to Cas' hand before meeting his eyes with a bit of confusion. Dean shakes her off and brings his arm up to wrap around Cas' shoulders, staring Sam down, just daring him to say something rude to Cas.

"We did it Friday, but we haven't told anyone yet, alright? Not exactly the kind of thing you share over the phone when you live close enough to do it person," Dean says, chin lifted.

"Okay," Jess interjects, drawing the word out. "Living room and story time, _now_. Dinner's going to be a minute in the oven, so we have time."

Sam and Jess retrieve their wine glasses, and Dean helps himself to fridge, pulling out two beers for himself and Cas before they all file out to the living room. Sam flops down in an enormous armchair, Jess climbing on to perch across his lap while Dean and Cas take seats on the end of the couch nearest to the armchair. Instead of the casual arm drape over the back of the couch, Dean takes Cas' hand, and Cas knows well enough now to know that it's a purposeful move, perhaps to convey the two of them as a united front.

There's a long awkward silence where no one seems to know who should speak first, until Dean rolls his eyes and takes the initiative.

"What do you want to know?" he asks.

Sam gives a brittle laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Well, let's see. There's the fact that," he cuts off suddenly, pushing his lips together and shaking his head. "Actually, can I talk to you alone, Dean?"

Now Dean is shaking his own head. "Cas knows my shit, Sam. And trust me, we're both fully aware of how weird this probably looks. Whatever you want to say, just say it."

Sam looks between the men, calculating, and Cas can definitely see that lawyer's brain working.

"So Castiel, you're fully aware then, that my brother is a traumatized veteran that refuses to seek help and avoids relationships of any sort, correct?" Sam asks bluntly.

Cas feels Dean's hand tense in his own and gives it an assuring squeeze. "Yes, I am aware of these facts."

Christ, it's like being on the witness stand. God help anyone who crosses Samuel Winchester once he's actually practicing law.

"So you can understand why I'm confused that my commitment-phobe brother is here with a ring on his finger from the guy he's been bitching about for over a decade now, right?"

It's Cas' turn to tense, irritated at Sam for speaking of Dean so indelicately, as well as the fact that Dean hadn't mentioned that Sam is aware of at least some of their history. "To answer your question, yes, your confusion is valid. But I'd also appreciate if you wouldn't speak of my _husband's_ personal issues so flippantly; he deserves respect from each and every one of us for what he's been through to protect us," he says, unconcerned for the ice in his voice.

Where Cas expects a glare or perhaps an outright lashing of words for speaking to Sam in such a manner in his own home, he's surprised to see that Sam merely clenches his jaw, looking somewhere between guilty and irritated.

"Sorry," Sam grits out, addressing both men. "Mind to explain how this happened, though?" he asks, voice losing its edge.

Dean clears his throat, and Cas is relieved that Dean is taking the reins for the moment, just like he'd said he would, with the family dealings.

"Well, it started when we got paired up for the project. You know how neither of us wanted to be on it," Dean says, receiving nods from the other couple. "We had a spat at the beginning that ended with me avoiding him for a few days and trying to do the work by myself."

"Was this when he took your pie to make you talk to him?" Jess asks with a smirk, looking between the two men.

Cas looks over to him, both amused and a little concerned at how much and what Dean may have said about him, to what are now his in-laws. Dean snorts a small laugh and squeezes at Cas' hand.

"Yeah, that was the timeframe. But anyway, the rumor mill started up when some people saw us sharing the pie in the cafeteria. All kinds of stuff, but all of it involving us being more than just coworkers. Since Cas is in a higher position than me, we figured that maybe we could play along with the rumors and let everyone think we were together so HR would get wind of it, for abuse of position or whatever. Cas would get a slap on the wrist and be removed from the project, and we'd both be happy."

Sam and Jess are both quirking amused smirks, knowing exactly where this is heading, no doubt internally considering Dean and Cas to be jackasses.

"The thing is, Cas apparently had no clue how to flirt, so we had to practice for when we'd be seen at work, and then things got a little carried away and-"

"Excuse me, I do so know how to flirt," Cas butts in, still feeling a need to defend himself this way. "Like I said before, I just didn't know how to do it with you because you're an ass and I don't flirt with people that annoy me."

Dean just laughs and throws him a wink. "You sure about that, babe? Because I seem to recall-"

"Yes, I am sure that you're still an ass," Cas cuts him off, quipping back with a smirk.

Dean smirks back and they end up looking at each other with knowing looks as they each think back to that day at the café. It goes on long enough that Sam ends up clearing his throat to pull their attention back, and Cas startles a bit with the sound. When he looks over to the other couple, Jess is looking between them with interest, clearly invested in hearing the story, while Sam has a look that screams 'Oh god, please don't let my brother go into detail.'

Cas isn't sure what provokes him to do it, but for whatever reason- likely a bit of spite toward Sam for his earlier wording- he finds himself putting on his best guileless face and saying, "Soon after that, we ended up fornicating in a supply closet."

"Dude!" Sam cries, nose scrunched up, while Dean says, "Really? You went with _fornicate_?"

"I could've gone with _Dean and I had vigorous_ -" Cas gets out, before Dean's hand is being clapped over Cas' mouth.

Jess is cackling at it all, Sam looks like he smells something horrific, and Dean is failing at trying to glare at Cas. Just to take it that one step further, Cas licks Dean's palm where it's still pressed against his mouth; Cas is smiling when Dean jerks his hand back with a "Ugh!" and wipes his hand on the sleeve of Cas' shirt.

Cas just cackles, enjoying the reactions he's garnered. Normally he wouldn't dare say such inappropriate things when meeting a significant other's family, but during the course of their discussions earlier in the day, Dean had told him that he should just act like himself. So…this is Cas, acting like himself. At least when he's fairly comfortable around someone, anyway. Plus, he also suspects that having grown up around Dean's personality probably lends Sam a bit more tolerance to such things than the average person.

"Okay, okay, geez," Sam says, holding up a hand and grimacing. "I'd really rather hear the abridged version, thanks."

Dean chuckles and gives Cas an appreciative little grin.

"Alright, so basically one hookup led to another, and things were said in the middle of sexy times, and we kind of didn't have a choice but to talk it out after that," Dean says, summing up their 'story' efficiently.

Sam looks between them incredulously. "Okay, I get that. And with anyone else I could see it. Sort of. But Dean," he breaks off a sigh and with what Dean must have meant by 'puppy eyes'. "Both of you, actually. From what I know, you've despised each other for years. I just don't understand how you two went from snarling at each other to in love and _eloping_ in one month," he says, looking between them.

Jess stays quiet, but her face says she agrees with the questioning.

Dean tenses. "Well maybe I don't need you to understand. Maybe I just need you to be happy for me and offer a congratulations. Since you know, I somehow managed to overcome how utterly incapable I am of love," he says sarcastically with a bit of a glare.

Running a hand through his hair, Sam huffs. "You're nowhere near incapable of love, Dean. What you suck at is accepting it in return," he says frankly.

The words are so accurate that even Cas cringes a little, and he can feel the way Dean's body is practically vibrating next to him, the hand still clutching his own going a little shaky. The room has gone deathly silent, as if time has stood still while everyone waits to see what Dean will do. Then, as if someone hit the 'play' button on life's remote, Dean is scooting to the edge of the seat and dragging Cas with him by a possessive arm around his shoulder.

"You know what? Maybe I just had to find the right person that can handle my shit. Ever think of that? And considering that Cas has been dealing with me for freakin' twelve years now, I believe that would qualify him as being capable. And you know what else? For some god-forsaken reason, this asshat has not only been unholy levels of patient with me, but he doesn't treat me like I'm completely broken; I'm just me. So for once I'm gonna shock the hell out of you and do something _smart_ and keep him in my life," Dean finishes, breathing quickened and nostrils flared from his tirade.

That…was totally not scripted, and Cas has to make a concentrated effort not to let his shock come through and instead turn to look at Dean with a look of appreciation. Dean is caught up in a staring contest with his brother, but after a few seconds seems to register Cas' eyes on him and turns to look at him. Those green eyes are warring between mortification and surprise at himself, before that familiar shuttering-off look happens behind them. Cas ignores it for the sake of the act, and leans over to give Dean a chaste kiss on the cheek that has Dean's eyes fluttering shut on a soft sigh in a way that could only be involuntary, as if just being touched is enough to ground him. As another surprise, when Cas pulls away, Dean follows him and sinks down in his seat so he can lean his head against Cas' shoulder, as if he's exhausted now. Up until now, Cas has been the one to draw physical support from Dean when his nerves have been wracked, and Cas feels a confusing mix of emotions at realizing that he can offer that to Dean, too, hangover cuddling aside.

Just for good measure, Cas casts an unimpressed look at Sam and wraps his arm around Dean's shoulders. Time to get back on topic. "We really don't have to explain ourselves to you, but I will say that while we've had our issues, I've never hated your brother. Even now, I regret every moment that I inflicted the very worst of myself on Dean, because that's not who I am, and now I know that the way he has behaved isn't who he is, either. I care very deeply for your brother, Sam, and have no intention of hurting him," Cas pauses, taking in an Oscar-worthy breath of shaky emotion. "Dean is everything," he finishes quietly, looking down at Dean, now.

Dean is looking back up at him, face awed for a moment, before leaning up for a kiss to Cas' lips. "Love you too, babe," he murmurs against Cas' lips, just loud enough for the other couple to hear it. They exchange another quick kiss before pulling apart, and Dean sits up straight again, though he keeps their proximity. Cas knows that Dean's awe was directed at his performance and lets himself feel a brief moment of smug satisfaction at a job well done, though he's careful to keep it from leaking onto his face when he glances over to the other couple.

Jess is looking away with a little smile as if trying to give the couple some bit of privacy, and Sam is slowly deflating like a balloon with a pinhole leak.

"Sorry. Just wanna look out for my brother, you know? You've always done it for me, and you have to know I'm going to do it for you too, right?" he asks Dean.

Dean deflates a little too, and sighs. "I know, Sammy. But right now, what I need you to do is keep this all between us, alright? I'd rather tell Mom and Dad myself, because you know how Mom is. She finds out from anyone else, she'll be on a plane and out here in hours to tear me a new one for not telling her."

Sam takes the change in topic in stride and huffs a quiet laugh, while Jess looks between Dean and Cas with a soft look. It makes Cas calm down a bit, after all the tension of the minutes before.

"Thing is, you might be dealing with her sooner rather than later," Sam says, looking a bit sheepish.

"Why's that? We having a shotgun wedding, complete with bun in the oven?" Dean half-jokes, eyebrow quirked.

"No, no bun yet," Jess says easily. "But all the venues that we can afford are booked solid for the next two years. The other day though, one of them had a last minute cancellation, and it'll be open in three weeks."

"And let me guess, you two haven't told Mom and Dad, either?" Dean asks smugly, leaning back in his seat.

"Um, no, not so much," Sam admits.

Dean drags a palm over his face, but he's laughing by the time his hand falls to his lap.

"Holy Jesus, Mom's gonna shit a brick. At both of us," Dean muses.

Sam huffs a resigned laugh and takes a sip of his wine that's been mostly neglected until now. The general mood has calmed down to something almost pleasant now, and Cas feels like he can breathe again, electing to finally sip at his own beer. A timer beeps in the kitchen as the brothers bicker good-naturedly, and Jess looks at Cas as she stands up.

"Mind to come help me?" she asks, nodding toward the kitchen.

And here it comes. Cas supposes he'd rather be cornered by Jess than Sam though, so he stands up to follow her request. On his way past Dean, Dean gives him a playful smack on the ass and that incorrigible grin/wink combo, but Cas just rolls his eyes with a small grin and ignores the chuckle it earns him as he follows Jess into the kitchen.

When he walks in, Jess is already bent over the oven, pulling out the dish, and then setting it on the stove. She pokes around the food for a moment checking for something before she speaks.

"I'm not going to give you the leg-breaking speech or instigate an inquisition, so calm down," she says with a glance, before sprinkling more cheese on top of what appears to be enchiladas.

Not realizing he'd tensed up so much again, Cas takes a calming breath and relaxes his shoulders, turning to lean against the counter. Jess hums an approving sound, whether at her superior cheese distribution or Cas' effort, Cas isn't sure. After she's got the dish back in the oven, she straightens up and turns to face him, leaning against the counter, too.

"While I still think it's kind of sudden, it's obvious you two seem to have something special going on. I mean, I only met Dean a few years ago, but not once have I ever seen him look so comfortable around anyone besides Sam," Jess pauses, giving Cas a head to toe assessment, that ends in a small smile. "He's come to be like a brother to me, so please promise me you'll keep up what you said out there. Dean is one of the best people I've ever known and deserves so much more than he lets himself have," Jess says seriously. "He has a huge heart, even if he can't see it, so just…don’t let him push you away, and you take care of him, okay?"

A large, guilty lump has settled in Cas' throat; he really hates lying to her about all this, and especially when it's so clear just how much she and Sam care about Dean. And Sam and Jess seem like good people too, and everything about it just sits completely wrong in Cas' stomach. This isn't just playing dress-up for the suits at the office; this is real life, where Cas is going to get to know these people and become part of their lives for who knows how long, and Cas has never even really had a family, and oh god, what if he fucks it up? He doesn't know what he's doing with these things!

"I'll do my best," Cas says honestly, voice cracking. Jess gives him a soft smile and squeezes his bicep, and Cas is completely fine with this particular miscommunication. Not that he has any intention to hurt Dean, of course. But being friends with Dean would take nowhere _near_ as much effort as inserting himself into a close-knit family and continuing to help defend a relationship that's only a cardboard prop, hiding a stack of paperwork behind it.

"Now that that's settled, I want all the gooey bits, because I know Dean isn't going to give them, since he'll probably deny they even happened," Jess smiles. "You know, who proposed, how it happened, what the ceremony was like, all of that good stuff."

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Why didn't we figure this part out?_

"Of course," Cas grins, forcefully shoving down his anxiety.


	15. "Husbands" Faces pt. 2

"Well, um, you probably don’t really want to know the details of the proposal," Cas says, casting a meaningful look at Jess.

It takes a moment, but the understanding dawns with a look of amusement and vague disapproval. There's no incredulity though, so Cas considers that particular bullet to have been successfully dodged.

"Are you serious? You talked about it in the middle of sex?" she laughs.

 _Well, we_ were _both in the middle of getting screwed over when we got 'engaged',_ Cas thinks sarcastically to himself. Instead of sharing that tidbit though, he gives Jess a smirk and looks away, now chuckling at his own little inside joke with himself.

"Damn, that must've been one hell of a screw," Jess muses teasingly, and Cas can't help but let out an actual laugh at that. _Oh, if she only knew_. "So come on, I need details about the ceremony," she says, tugging on his arm now.

"Well, it was just us and the officiant and Charlie, who took pictures for us. It was short, but very sweet, in a gazebo out in a more private part of the campus," Cas says, only to then be interrupted by Dean finally choosing that moment to stroll in, picking up the conversation as if he'd been there the whole time. _Shithead_.

"Cas panicked when the ring got stuck on my knuckle and licked my finger in front of God and everybody, to make it go," Dean supplies with a cheesy grin. "And then he freaked out over freaking out and frenched me when it was time for the kissing part."

Cas narrows a glare at Dean's back as Jess snorts a laugh, and then Sam's leaning in the doorway a second later, listening intently.

"Do you really want to start that, Winchester? I've got plenty in my arsenal as well," Cas taunts. Sure, he's got enough to embarrass Dean with, but practically none of it is suitable for telling family, and he hopes Dean doesn't call his bluff.

"Bring it, _Winchester_ ," Dean smirks challengingly.

"You took his name?" Sam butts in, surprised.

It may not be the out Cas was hoping for, but it's better than nothing. "I did. Though I question my own judgment at the moment," he says, feigning a scowl. "But yes, my name is now James Castiel Winchester."

"No offense, but why go by such an unusual name, when you've got something so normal like James as a first name?" Jess asks curiously, as she pulls out drinking glasses; the table is already set.

Cas shrugs, feeling suddenly self-conscious, as all eyes are on him. "It's what Gabe's always called me, so I stuck with it. Plus, I never really felt like a James or a Jimmy or any of that, I guess."

They all file out of the kitchen at that, Sam carrying the dinner, and take their places at the table, the couples each sitting together on either of the long sides of the table.

"So Castiel, mind if I ask who Gabe is?" Sam asks, once they're all seated and serving up their dinner. Cas gets the sense that if he wanted to not talk about his family that Sam would drop it, but figures it would be in his and Dean's best interest to be upfront.

"Gabriel is my older brother. He raised me after our parents died when I was little," Cas replies.

"Oh. Um, sorry," Sam grimaces.

"It's fine, Sam. It was a long time ago, and I honestly don't even remember them. As far as I remember, it's always just been me and Gabe," Cas says, easily. "From where I stand, he was my mother, my father, and my brother."

Dean takes that opportunity to skate his hand over to Cas' thigh under the table and give him a brief squeeze before letting his hand rest there. After a minute, Dean leans over to whisper, "Can I tell 'em the thing? About Gabriel's identity, I mean," Dean clarifies when Cas openly shows his confusion.

"If you want. I assume Sam understands confidentiality, what with being a future lawyer and all," Cas says loud enough for Sam to hear, shooting him a small grin.

Sam looks eagerly between them, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Dude, Cas' brother is the Porn King," Dean announces, face splitting into a wide grin with an unspoken 'ta-da' lacing his words.

Sam's brows scrunch together in confusion and he looks to Jess, who doesn't seem to know any more than Sam does.

"So he's like…an adult entertainer?" Sam asks carefully.

"Oh my god, you're such a dork," Dean groans. "Have you really never heard of him? He's like the Phantom of the Opera, but with porn! Casa Erotica ring any bells?"

Sam gives Dean a look of concern. "Are you sure you aren't confusing porn with reality again?"

Cas snorts a laugh, curious to know the story behind that statement, but figures he can ask about it later.

"I assure you, this is very much reality, and my brother most certainly founded Casa Erotica," Cas declares with an amused grin.

Jess snaps her fingers a few times and points at Sam as something comes to her. "Wait, didn't we see him listed on some thing a few weeks back on TV? That thing about Hollywood mysteries or something?"

But then her eyes snap to Cas and she gives him a quick once-over before asking with a teasing look, "Castiel, have you done porn?"

He knows she wasn't being serious, but with that one question, Cas is pretty sure every ounce of blood in his body has just rushed to his head and neck, and Dean actually gasps beside him at the noticeable change. Fuck, he isn't sure if he's going to survive more family dinners if this is what they're like.

" _I_ didn't even know that!" Dean says, voice full of wonder. "Holy shit, my husband's a porn star."

"N-no, I'm not, it-it was just a couple of videos when I was in college, and they were taken down quickly when Gabriel got wind of it; he didn't want me getting involved in the business. They weren't on his site, but um, yeah," Cas trails off, certain that his blood might actually have turned to napalm, his face and neck are so hot.

Dean leans in then, to whisper. "Please tell me you have a copy somewhere. I'm gonna die of curiosity, man."

"We'll discuss this later," Cas whispers back, shooting Dean a firm look when he pulls back.

Sam clears his throat in what might be the most awkward manner humanly possible, and Jess looks apologetic.

"Okay, is it just me, or has this been pretty much the most uncomfortable get-together ever?" Jess asks, looking around the table with a strained smile.

Dean lets out a relieved breath at the acknowledgement and sags a bit in his seat. "Awkward as balls," he mutters.

"Castiel, I swear it's not normally this bad," Sam says earnestly. "Can we all just eat and try to talk about normal things like adults? Please?" he asks, looking around the table.

"Dinner is wonderful, Jess. Would you mind to give me the recipe before we leave tonight? I've grown fairly tired of my own cooking," Cas interjects, taking the initiative to change the subject.

Both Winchester brothers grin an approving look at him, and after a few minutes, Cas finally relaxes into what could certainly be considered 'normal dinner conversation' as he and Jess discuss cooking. Sam is revealed to be untrustworthy in the kitchen, and Dean praises his own abilities with a grill, which no one argues against. There's a healthy amount of questioning about Cas, but it's kept light in that get-to-know-you manner.

"You seriously own your house already? Not trying to be rude and all up in your business, but you can't be more than a couple years older than Dean, if that. Practically no one in our age group has a house!" Jess says wonderingly.

"Yes, I bought it a few years ago, and just paid it off recently. I'll admit I've had enough ramen that it makes me nauseous just thinking about it, and I haven't had cable for years amongst other things, but I wanted to do it as quickly as possible. It's nothing spectacular, and I've had to put a lot of work into it on the weekends, but it suits my needs," Cas says with a small shrug.

"You mean you've been doing the work on it yourself?" Sam asks, eyebrows raised a bit in surprise.

Cas can't help but give a small smile at that. "I know I look every bit like the suit that I am, but that doesn't mean I can't operate machinery or build something with my own hands. Don’t get me wrong, I always call out a professional for things like electrical issues, but if I have the skill and tools to do something myself, then that's what I prefer to do."

This is information that Cas had _certainly_ not mentioned to Dean, and Dean can't help but be a little turned on at the idea of Cas, whose movements are always so careful and precise, wrapping his hands around a sledgehammer and viciously tearing into a wall. It also brings about thoughts of rippling shoulder muscles as Cas hefts something heavy, and Dean knows exactly how strong Cas is, considering how easily he'd swept up Dean's 200 lb. self and carried him through that cabin.

Dean is startled from his thoughts by an elbow in his ribs and looks up to find Cas quirking a brow at him, and Jess giving him a mildly unimpressed look.

"Oh look, he joins us, now," Jess says to Dean, who hums a questioning sound. "I was just telling Cas that you know your way around fixing things up, too. I assume you're moving in to Cas' place, since you've just been renting, so I was wondering if you two had any projects you're going to work on together."

"Oh," Dean says, internally shaking his thoughts back to the present. "No, we haven't really gotten that deep into the domestic stuff yet. You know, been a little uh…occupied," he finishes with a lascivious look.

Surprisingly, Cas just gives a low chuckle and bumps his shoulder against Dean's. "Well, I actually don't have all that much left I want to do in the near future, except repaint a few rooms. Still trying to decide whether I want to go with warm neutrals, or a more aquatic set of colors, in the teal family."

Jess looks thrilled to finally have someone to talk about these kinds of things with and practically dismisses the other Winchesters to buddy up with Cas, who oddly enough, seems just as content with the conversation. Sam and Dean exchange a look across the table of amusement at their significant others, Sam maybe a little more so than Dean, at Cas' unexpected contentment to discuss interior design. Of course Dean can't let on that he's just as surprised, and gives a fond eyeroll in Cas' direction and shakes his head with a smile.

"Yeah, if it were up to Sam, everything would just be plaid or whatever he could grab first off the shelf and get back out of the store," Jess laughs lightly, winking at her fiancée.

"I'm not _that_ bad. I do have some taste," Sam says primly.

"Pretty sure your mutton chops and moose mane disagree, little brother," Dean teases.

Sam throws him a bitchface and smoothes a hand over his hair in a way that almost looks like Sam is consoling his hair for the slight, and Dean outrights laughs at his giant dork of a brother. Cas seems to have a similar thought, though he's a bit more polite with his humor, at least attempting to hide it behind his napkin.

"You all suck," Sam mutters, slinking down in his seat a little bit. When he looks to Jess for support, Sam looks utterly betrayed when he sees the way Jess is pushing her lips together in an effort not to join in the laughter.

"Et tu, Brute?" Dean narrates dramatically for his brother, one hand over his heart and the other palming at the side of his own head, which finally breaks Jess and Cas, who both end up laughing.

"Fuck you. Every damn one of you," Sam pouts, turning his eyes to his dinner and forking up a bite more forcefully than necessary.

"Come on, Sammy, don’t be like that. We laugh because we care," Dean grins.

Sam rolls his eyes and ignores Dean, focusing intently on his food. It's only a minute though, before Sam is back in the conversation, seemingly not all that offended as he'd made out.

After dinner, Jess manages to rope Cas into talking about her and Sam's wedding, and Cas doesn't miss how Dean keeps looking over with little grins, apparently amused that Cas can discern between lilac and lavender. Sam makes up for all the discomfort he caused by telling little anecdotes about he and Dean's childhood, most of them at Dean's expense, of course.

"Speaking of back home, you'd better call them after work tomorrow," Sam says seriously. "With our wedding coming up so soon, Jess and I need to tell Mom and Dad as early as we can so they have time to get their work and travel stuff arranged."

Dean sighs and nods. "Yeah, I know. I'll tell 'em tomorrow when we get home."

Sam relaxes, blowing out a relieved breath that ends up sending a lock of hair fluttering in front of him.

"And on that note, we'd probably better head out before it gets much later," Dean announces, glancing at the time on his phone; it's a little past eight p.m. and they still have a couple hours' drive ahead of them, depending on what traffic ends up like.

They all stand up then to give their goodbyes, Dean and Sam exchanging a back-thumping hug that looks nearly painful to Cas, and he can only hope that Sam doesn't intend on giving him the same treatment. Jess pulls Cas in for a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, giving him a bit of a warning look, intended to remind him of their conversation in the kitchen, to which Cas gives her a subtle nod. And then Cas is being pulled into a hug with Sam; the hug is awkward to say the least, considering the difference in height, but at least he spares Cas the harsh back-thumping. When it seems that Cas is about to escape, Sam leans in closer and whispers, "I like you for now, but I know how to make a body disappear, just so you know."

When Cas pulls away, Sam's lips are smiling, but those hazel eyes are cutting into him with a look that clearly says that Sam isn't kidding around with his threat. It's startling, considering that Sam has spent the majority of the evening looking like a giant puppy, and Cas doesn't doubt for an instant that Sam is telling the truth. With a solemn nod, Cas sticks his hand out to offer another 'nice to meet you' handshake, and then he and Dean are heading out the door.

The moment he and Dean are in the car, they both exhale deeply.

"I think that went okay. Did it go okay?" Cas asks.

Dean nods as he turns the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life like a great beast before settling down into a low rumble. Cas' own little sensible Corolla is anything but noisy, and he thinks he rather enjoys the brashness of Dean's car. It suits him.

"Yeah, I think we pulled it off. You did good in there, with all the googly eyes and romantic crap," Dean says distractedly, though he doesn't seem inclined to add anything else.

Just as Cas suspected, Dean has shuttered off again, when he looks at the other man. Every bit of ease and good humor they'd been sharing only minutes before seems to have vanished the moment they got in the car, with Dean being free of having to keep up the act. Cas waits until they're on the road again, and when Dean still hasn't said anything, Cas sighs.

"So I guess we _aren't_ going to talk about that little outburst that I'm assuming has you brooding over there?" Cas asks, though it comes out more like a statement.

Dean's jaw clenches in concert with his fingers tightening on the wheel. "Nope."

Cas rolls his eyes and kicks off his shoes to perch his feet on the dashboard, earning a warning glare that he couldn't give a shit less about.

"Just to clarify; you're intending to pretend that you didn't muddle some truth into your defense of our 'marriage', and admitted that you appreciate knowing me. And while you're at it, pretend that I didn't hear it, either?" Cas asks, voice growing mildly irritated.

"Yep," Dean replies, steadfastly keeping his eyes on the road.

Dean can see Cas looking at him in peripheral, but keeps his eyes on the road as he navigates traffic. Cas hums a thoughtful noise and turns back to face the windshield without a word. The silence drags for at least ten minutes, but Dean stubbornly refuses to ask what that hum was about. Finally, he turns on the radio to fill the space, ignoring Cas' disapproving huff at the evasion tactic. Even over the noise of the music though, Dean can hear Cas give another thoughtful hum a few minutes later, as if his ears are tuned to the sound of Cas' voice now.

"What?" Dean bites out, turning down the volume.

Cas takes his time turning to look at Dean, offering his blankest expression, and something about getting that look again after having learned how expressive Cas can be makes Dean even more irritated.

"I didn't say anything," Cas replies, voice flat enough to match his face.

"You hummed."

"I suppose I did," Cas replies unhelpfully, turning back to face the windshield.

Okay, Cas' version of the silent treatment is officially one of the most frustrating things Dean has encountered with the man so far. Dean knows that Cas is simply doing what Dean asked by not talking about it, but the fact that he isn't offering any other sort of conversation is getting under Dean's skin. It's clearly a ploy designed to let Dean know that he won't get away with sweeping what he said under the rug while doing exactly as Dean requested. _Spiteful_ , Dean thinks, bitterly congratulating himself on his accurate assessment of Cas' personality a few weeks back.

"Well anyway, I think you won Jess over, and I'm pretty sure Sam is warming up to you," Dean says, switching tactics. If Cas wants to be a spiteful asshole, then fine, Dean will just kill him with kindness. "Pretty sure they ate it up, with all the touching and gazing and shit. You really came through, Cas, so thanks," Dean says appreciatively. And the best part is, none of it's even a lie.

Dean can practically feel the glare aimed at him before Cas even turns his head, and Dean barely holds back a chuckle; Cas is definitely smart enough to know what Dean's doing, and it's hilarious watching him try to decide how to respond. After a moment, Cas straightens and turns his whole body to face Dean.

"You know what? It's been a hell of a weekend and I'm too goddamned exhausted in every way _imaginable_ to keep on with this bullshit," Cas says tiredly. "So congratulations, you win the Passive-Aggressive Behavior throne; I forfeit my crown for the night," Cas declares, before turning back in his seat and slumping down to grind his palms into his eyes.

Any victory Dean had felt is immediately snuffed by the feeling of embarrassment that Cas is being far more mature than Dean. Now that Dean chances a longer glance at the man though, he can see the exhaustion pulling at every inch of Cas' body, from his slumped posture, to the tension in the muscles of his face.

And now comes the guilt, as Dean realizes that with the stress of the dinner, he'd sort of forgotten about the fact that Cas is going through a whole separate set of issues from Dean's own, with a list a mile long. He's reminded of the fact that Cas had mentioned as much in passing, but has barely breathed a word of his own distress since then.

Dean is struck with exactly what a dick he is, considering that the only thing he's facing is keeping up a ruse, securing a nice- but unnecessary- internship for Sam, and avoiding his past coming back to bite him in the ass. The last two should work out fine as long as he keeps up the act and does his job properly with work. So truthfully, Dean actually only has one thing on his plate, while Cas' whole damned world is falling apart. By all rights, Cas should've been the one to have a meltdown this weekend, instead of being all supportive and taking care of Dean's drunk ass and freakin'  _spooning_ him, just because Dean was cold and hungover and needy. And what does Dean do? Get so wrapped up in his own head that he can't even hold a civilized conversation with the guy that's been helping keep Dean's ass in line, while simultaneously dealing with his own shit. _Fuck, I'm an asshole. Selfish fucking prick_.

He still can't bring himself to say much, but his irritation has all but fizzled out, and Dean feels the need to make some sort of gesture of good will. Cas is leaning his side against the passenger door, looking sightlessly out the window, so Dean gets his attention by reaching across and knocking the back of his hand against Cas' arm. The man startles at the unexpected contact and looks over with his brows knit in confusion, when Dean drops his hand to the seat between them, palm-up. He still takes Dean's hand though, the touch hesitant as he simply lays his hand lightly on Dean's. Something about that hesitance makes Dean feel even worse, so he adjusts to lace their fingers together, not bothering to hold back a little sigh at the comfort he's started to take in the simple contact. If they're going to be stuck in this thing alone together, they may as well reap the benefits.

"'M'sorry," Dean murmurs. "I'm an asshole," he adds on a sigh, figuring that about sums it all up.

Cas doesn't respond immediately, looking down at his lap for a moment. "I'm going to be honest; I'm not exactly sure what it is you're apologizing for being an asshole about," Cas finally replies.

It's obvious by his tone that Cas genuinely doesn't know what thing Dean is referencing, and it makes Dean feel like even more of an asshole, that there's so much in their history, that Cas can't even determine the subject of Dean's apology. Not to mention the fact that Cas outright apologized earlier that night in his own way, for his own behavior over the years, and even went so far as to imply that he thinks Dean is better than his own behaviors as well. There may have been many played up moments that night, but there had been no mistaking that Cas meant it when he'd admitted his regret.

"I don't really wanna get into all that right now because that's a pretty loaded question, and I'm tired too, but…" Dean pauses, trying gather his words. "I guess I'm just sorry for being an asshole. You know. Since forever," he says with a shrug that probably looks more like a muscle spasm that the nonchalant gesture he'd been trying for.

Cas is quiet for a few seconds. "Is this your way of saying that you're willing to let me be your friend?" he asks slowly.

Dean hadn't really considered that that was what he was doing, but damned if it doesn't seem to be an accurate description. He thinks back to his semi-drunken thought process that night on the deck, and figures that if he's going to let himself have something, he may as well give a fair warning to the guy. "I've done some really horrifying shit, Cas. Things that I could never earn forgiveness for, even if I spent the rest of my life in the freakin' clergy. I know more ways to inflict-"

"I know, Dean," Cas cuts him off, but not unkindly. "I figured out a long time ago that you tortured people over there."

Hearing the word put out there so bluntly makes Dean wince.

"Then why in the hell would you knowingly get all cozy with me?" he asks, scandalized.

Cas leans his head back on the headrest and closes his eyes. "Because even the best people are capable of terrible things under certain conditions. What's important is whether you recognize the terror of your actions and try to maintain your humanity thereafter. It may not provide absolution, but at least it's not just giving up," Cas pauses to sit up again, looking straight at Dean, now. "And now that I've gotten to know you a little, it's become clear that you punish yourself more than anyone else ever could. Not that that's healthy, but it says to me that your humanity is nowhere near lost, Dean."

Dean can only blink for a minute, unsure how to respond to that. But then a few more minutes go by and he still doesn't know what to say, because his thoughts are all jumbled up, knowing rationally that Cas has a point, but emotionally, not being able to imagine applying that line of thought to himself. The longer he thinks, the more discordant his thoughts become, but he's so absorbed in them that he startles when he feels the touch of Cas' hand, pulling Dean's own away from himself.

Fuck, he was scratching his leg again.

"Hairline fractured my femur in that explosion," Dean explains succinctly. "My leg itched like hell while it was healing."

Cas nods, seeming to understand the connection and laces their fingers together again, in what Dean suspects is a move to keep him from scratching again. It's nothing different from what Cas had done the other night, but something about the fact that Cas is _still_ looking out for him seems to make something snap into place; Cas is stubborn, Dean knows this for a fact, and it's only now that it dawns on him that Cas could be stubborn about people, too. Why Cas has decided to be stubborn about Dean, he'll never know, but it certainly appears that that's exactly what has happened.

"Don't say you haven't been warned," Dean mutters.

Cas lets out a deep breath and leans back in his seat. "Jesus _Christ_ ," he says, rubbing a hand down his face. "You'd think I asked you to marry me, that was so damned dramatic," he teases, lolling his head over to flash Dean a grin as he chuckles a bit to himself.

Dean knows that Cas is only teasing to lighten the mood and not trying to diminish the sincerity of what he'd previously said, and Dean appreciates the hell out of it. And okay, that was a terrible situational pun, but Dean can't help but laugh a little too. They still don’t talk much for the next several minutes, but the silences are a little less tense now. When they reach the halfway point back on their trip, they both figure it's time to get on with discussing the last details of how their night will go as well as how they'll operate in the morning both before and during work.

There's every chance that both of their places are already being watched, so they agreed earlier that they don't really have a choice but to start playing house effective immediately. Dean reminds Cas to be vigilant of his words and behaviors once they get to his house, because until Dean has time to do a thorough job- which can take hours- he'll only be making a cursory sweep of the place tonight.

They start to move on to discussing how to handle the work situation, but Cas stops himself mid-sentence with a shake of his head.

"Actually, do you think Charlie is still up? I think it would be more efficient to just ask her what the general chatter seems to be at the office so we can behave accordingly," Cas suggests.

"Yeah, she's up. You have one of the burners on you?" Dean asks, focusing more on the road, now that they're hitting a little bit denser traffic.

Cas rifles around his pockets, pulling out two phones and huffing. "I have both _our_ phones."

"Here, grab the one out of my right pocket," Dean says a bit absently, leaning back a little to make room, while switching lanes as he tries to get over to where they need to be to make the next exit.

And then Cas' hand is right there, digging for the phone and letting his fingertips drag along Dean's dick through the pocket in a way that in no way could be called accidental. Dean grunts, hips twitching in surprise, and wishing he could take his eyes off the road to glare at Cas a little bit for the tease.

"Was that really necessary?" Dean grumps, eyes flicking between all his mirrors as he determines whether he can switch lanes again.

Cas just chuckles and pulls the phone out, unlocking the screen. "Have you really not figured out yet that I like to tease?" Cas asks.

There's just enough break in the traffic for Dean to throw Cas an unimpressed look, which only earns Dean that fucking wink that irritates and arouses him all at once. But then Cas is speaking into the phone, and Dean needs to focus on driving again, so he shrugs off the moment, figuring that there will be plenty of time for him to pay Cas back for all the teasing. He doesn’t bother listening to Cas' end of the call, figuring he'll get the rundown afterward, more concerned about the SUV that's been following them at a disconcertingly steady distance, the closer they get to their houses. Dean's noticed a late model Camaro, a Charger, and an imposing F-350 do the same thing during their trip, likely switching out to try not to arouse suspicion, but Dean isn't stupid. The SUV has been on them the longest though, and Dean honestly doesn't know whether it's one of Crowley's, or a government vehicle, so he slows his speed down a bit, until he's only going ten over the speed limit; no sense risking getting pulled over and giving anyone reason to arrest them.

Cas chuckles into the phone next to him, pauses, and then outright laughs at something Charlie must've said, and Dean feels that same odd tendril of jealously from after their wedding uncurl, though which person he's jealous of, he isn't sure. But he knows that he sure as hell has never made Cas laugh like that, and Charlie has warmed up to Cas a lot faster than she warmed up to Dean. Catching his own thoughts, Dean internally rolls his eyes and refuses to try and glean a bit of their conversation. It wraps up a few minutes later anyway, as they're getting closer to Dean's apartment, where they're making a pit stop to let Dean grab a few more things for the night.

"Charlie sends you face smooshes," Cas snorts, "and says that so far, most people have just assumed that we're out on business. But there's also a small pool going, as to whether we come back being obviously together, or still snipping at each other."

"Am I the only one tempted to fuck it up for all of them? You know, act all 'come here and kiss me, you piece of shit.'" Dean asks with a wry grin.

"No, that was my first thought, too. But Charlie told me to deliver a threat, that she'll still consider annexing part of her kingdom for you? She said you'd know what she meant and that she's serious, because she put two hundred dollars in the pool for 'resolved tension' and is going to be pissed if we cost her," Cas shares, a barely contained grin on his lips. He doesn't say anything more, but he keeps looking at Dean with curious amusement.

Dean sighs. "I know you wanna ask, so I'm just going to save us the time. Charlie is the Queen of Moondoor and I'm her handmaiden. She's been threatening to annex off a piece of her kingdom to me, name it Asshatica, and crown me as the King, like the LARP version of putting me in the stocks."

Cas is quiet for a minute, a stupid, all too amused grin spreading to his face. "Dean, do you mean to tell me that you're one of those people that runs around in the park on the weekends in costume and engages in fake battles?"

Dean pushes his lips together, and Cas lets out a surprised peal of laughter.

"Holy shit!" Cas giggles- fucking _giggles_ ; there's no other word for the sound he's making. "Wow. So um, tell me," he breaks off, failing at keeping a straight face, "what exactly does being a handmaiden entail?"

"You know what, you can fuck off any time, Cas," Dean says defensively. "I don't have to explain jack shit. It's fun and I like it, so-"

Cas reaches over to squeeze at Dean's bicep, giggles having died down to chuckles. "I'm sorry, Dean, it's just really surprising. Surely you can see it from my perspective, just a little; mister badass authority figure that looks like a damned underwear model also just happens to have a soft spot for dressing up in costume and running around with a foam sword."

"It's cosplay," Dean sniffs. "And underwear model? Really, Cas? I'm guessing you've totally overlooked my invisible abs and noticeably Irish complexion," Dean grumbles.

"Hey," Cas snaps, voice dipping low and surprisingly serious. "In case you haven't caught on yet, I happen to find you _very_ pleasing, and I'm sure most would agree that you're almost obscenely attractive. As in, I'm pretty sure you've probably made a few straight guys question their sexuality for a minute."

Dean knows he's fairly good looking, but no one has ever said something like that to him without any sense of false flattery or mockery behind it, and he can't help the blush that heats his face at the sincerity in Cas' voice.

"I _could_ wax on my more vulgar thoughts," Cas muses, "but I think it would be unwise while you're operating a vehicle," he smirks.

Dean rolls his eyes and makes a 'pfffft' sound. "You said it yourself that you're a tease, so I'm not buying your shit anymore 'til you start proving it," he says.

"Is that a challenge?" Cas purrs.

"Hell yeah it is," Dean tosses back. "You've been giving me inconvenient boners for weeks and that shit's gotta stop. One way or another, I'm gonna find out _your_ boner kryptonite, and then it's on, buddy."

"Okay," Cas says easily, somehow conveying a shrug in his voice. Dean chooses not to egg the man on with a response.

Once they're within five miles of Dean's apartment, Dean warns Cas not to say anything incriminating with a finger to his lips and brief gesture at his own ear. Cas nods his understanding, having come to terms with the fact that Dean's paranoia is likely justified, and who knows if there's a minion or agent pointing one of those microphone-dish things at them. Cas has no idea what they're called, but he's seen enough movies and shows to know that they're a thing that exists, dammit!

They keep their conversation light, talking about how they'll work out the morning routine with getting ready and determining that they should drive separately, since Cas tends to work a bit later than Dean. They're just wrapping up their packing-Dean's-shit and dinner plans for the next night when they pull up at Dean's place, the SUV that had been tailing them having split off a few streets back. Within seconds, Dean notices an unfamiliar sedan parked on the street a couple doors down with unnecessarily dark tinted windows. _Real smooth, guys_ , he thinks to himself.

"We have a meeting at nine o'clock don't we?" Cas asks innocently, though his eyes flick briefly to their left, where the sedan is parked.

"Yeah, we do," Dean nods with a small smile, privately pleased that Cas is picking up on how to do this. "Thanks for the reminder, babe. Can't go rollin' in without my briefcase."

Dean leans in for kiss just for show, while he discreetly guides Cas' hand to touch the glove box. "I'll be back in a flash," he says as he pulls away, quirking a brow to see if Cas caught his meaning.

Cas makes an L shape with his thumb and index finger against the seat to confirm, and Dean grins, leaning in to kiss him again, this time in appreciation. Then he's exiting the car and hustling up to his door with purposefully light feet, as if simply excited to get his things and get back to his husband. Once inside, he gathers the items he'd come in for, including the Go bag he always keeps just in case because he's a paranoid bastard, as well as his "briefcase". It takes him less than two minutes before he's back in the car.

Cas almost laughs when he sees that Dean really does bring out a briefcase, thinking it'd just been a part of the ruse, but figures it would look weird to laugh for what would be seemingly no reason to an outsider, and stifles it down.

"Do we need to stop anywhere before we get to the house?" Dean asks genuinely.

"That depends. Do you intend on fulfilling your husbandly duties tonight?" Cas asks, eyebrow quirked.

Dean's eyebrows go up in surprise; he'd assumed that they'd just go to Cas' place, let Dean get his things settled, and then go to sleep, since it's going on eleven already. _Wow, way to think like a geezer. Let's just buy some Werther's Orignal with a coupon while we're at it,_ he chides himself. How in the hell did he not consider that he might be getting lucky tonight?

"Nah, I've got enough stuff to last us through tonight," Dean grins.

"Then no, let's just go home. We won't need all that much, anyway; I don't think I have the energy for anything too _vigorous_ ," Cas says with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"You're never going to let that go with the vigorous thing, are you?" Dean asks, shaking his head good-naturedly.

Cas hums, tilting his head back and forth a few times as if considering. "No, I think I probably will eventually, once you give me fresh ammo to tease you with instead," he grins.

"Of course," Dean says dryly, earning a chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsk, tsk, Cas. When are you gonna start sharing some of your own background, hmmm? Sooner would probably be better than later, since Dean can be an annoying little shit when he wants something ;)


	16. You Feel Like Paradise

Thankfully, Cas hadn't been lying at dinner when he alluded to the modesty of his house. With only two bedrooms- one of which is currently being used as a wasteland for random junk- a small kitchen-slash-dining area, and fairly open living room with few places any equipment could be hidden, Dean's sweep goes faster than he'd expected. He doesn't find anything out of the ordinary, but he also knows that that doesn't necessarily mean anything, since he doesn't exactly have time to be thorough.

When he reaches the doorway to the bathroom, Cas is already in there, door wide open as he stands at the sink, digging around in his eye. It's kind of gross- but fascinating- and Dean realizes he's staring when Cas catches his eye in the mirror, after peeling a contact out of his eye. Dean doesn't know why he's _still_ watching, but Cas doesn’t seem to care, and simply continues on to peel the other one out as if it's not kind of weird that Dean is watching him do somewhat private night time rituals.

The moment both contacts are secured in the little case with their solution, Cas heaves a relieved sigh, rubbing furiously at his eyes. "Been wanting to do this all day," he mutters, still rubbing for a few seconds.

"Anyway," Cas continues, finally dropping his hands, "hope you don't mind, but I went ahead and brought your things in here with me. I was just about to brush my teeth, if you want to join me," Cas says, a faintly wry quirk to his lips as he slips his glasses on.

Dean is pretty sure that Cas is trying to subtly coach Dean through the fundamentals of typical domestic couple behaviors, and he isn't sure if he should feel insulted at the implication that he wouldn't know these basic things, or pleased that Cas is just as concerned as Dean is about doing this whole thing right, and simply covering his bases.

"'Course I wanna join you, baby," Dean says, syrupy-sweet, as he finally steps into the bathroom. And just for added show, he caresses a much more affectionate hand than usual over the curve of Cas' ass. "Cause when I come home, yeah I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man that brushes teeth with you," he sings like a dork, grabbing his own toothbrush out of the little cup on the sink, and offering Cas a cheesy grin.

Hey, if they're doing the gross couple thing, Dean may as well put in some effort. Sure, he may not have much of the cohabitation stuff down as far as feeling natural about it, but he damn well knows how to do the stupid flirting part.

Cas cackles at Dean's foolishness, squeezing toothpaste- _Dean's toothpaste_ \- onto his brush. When Dean glances between the toothpaste and Cas' face, the man just shrugs, still smiling.

"What? This is the flavor I normally get, but they were out the last time I bought some… and don't look at me like that; you have my ring on your finger and you've touched my asshole, so I'm pretty sure that toothpaste doesn't even register on the _things we don’t share_ scale."

The blunt statement catches Dean off guard and startles a sputter of laughter out of him, despite the underlying warning of 'married couples share things like this' in Cas' statement.

"Sorry, still getting used to some of the husband stuff," Dean says truthfully. "Haven't had to share with anyone in years, so it's gonna take me a minute."

He remembers his mom telling him once that it took her almost two months to get used to signing her name with Winchester instead of Campbell when her and Dad got married, so surely this right here is forgivable enough to say out loud.

Cas nods, conceding the point as he scoots over to make room for Dean, who shoots him an appreciative smile as they both set to brushing their teeth. Dean didn't even do this stuff with Lisa, and even though objectively, there's nothing innately intimate about it, it still feels that way, sharing bathroom space to do something other than participate in a sexy shower. Still though, it is kind of nice having someone to get ready for bed with, and especially considering that said person isn't afraid to go to bed with him.

Once they've finished up, Cas reaches out to grab an unexpected handful of Dean's ass, chuckling at the surprised sound Dean makes.

"I wasn't kidding about getting laid," Cas smirks, before exiting the bathroom and closing the bathroom door behind himself.

The reminder that sex is on the table perks Dean right up, so he freshens up as quickly yet thoroughly as possible, eager to get to the bedroom and see what Cas wants to do tonight.

When he walks in, the first thing Dean notices is that their phones are charging on the nightstand, joined by the lube and a condom that Cas must have dug out of Dean's toiletry bag. There's even a towel spread out on the bed, and Cas' attention to order makes Dean snicker a little. He wouldn't be surprised at all if Cas even has his work clothes, underwear, and socks for the next day picked out. _What a dweeb_ , Dean thinks, with reluctant fondness.

Cas glances up from where he's shedding his jeans at the side of the bed, quirking a curious brow at Dean's laughter, but Dean just shakes his head as he toes off his shoes at the foot of the bed. Cas narrows his eyes with that look he gets when he isn't sure if Dean is making fun of him or not, and his movements as pulls his shirt off are a little stiffer than when he'd been removing his jeans.

Dean sighs and steps over to Cas with no real plan of how he means to show the man that he isn't being mocked, but his arms seem to know, and end up wrapping themselves around Cas' shoulders. The man's face is still skeptical and his body is a bit stiff, but Dean pulls him in anyway, until he's close enough to whisper in Cas' ear.

"I'm not making fun of you, so just relax, alright?" Dean says, barely audible.

Cas' posture relaxes just a fraction, then finally seems to loosen the rest of the way, when Dean scratches at the base of Cas' skull. It might have taken a couple days, but Dean is starting to pick up on the fact that Cas just needs the physical reassurance sometimes, when they aren't able to safely use words. With the way Cas seems to enjoy the contact, but seems hesitant to initiate much of it himself outside of sex or moral support, Dean can only assume that the man is trying to restrain himself from looking clingy. And Dean gets it, not always feeling sure of how much is too much either, but he hopes they can both figure it out so they can cut down on the semi-awkward air that still hangs around them sometimes.

"You're wearing too many clothes," Cas mumbles after a minute or so of the hug, snaking his hands beneath the hem of Dean's shirt at the back.

Dean smiles a little bit and pulls back, trying to give Cas a sultry look as he reaches for the hem himself, but fails miserably and laughs when Cas gives him an unimpressed face.

"Did you really just try and smolder at me?" Cas asks, lips starting to twitch and give away his own amusement.

"What? Am I not allowed to try and seduce you for once? All I've ever done is make honking noises while squeezing your ass, and humped you into horniness," Dean says, only half-joking.

Cas sighs, finally cracking a small smile as he reaches down to work Dean's belt buckle and pants open.

"I'm pretty sure that seduction implies a sort of…convincing…someone to sleep with them," Cas says, unzipping Dean's fly and dipping his hand down to palm over Dean's half hard cock, through his boxers. He grins to himself when they both feel it twitch and rubs with a little more pressure as he meets Dean's eyes. "I don't _need_ convincing," he says simply, smirking when Dean is almost fully erect within a few strokes. He doesn't address the honking and humping, so Dean supposes it just means that Cas doesn't mind Dean's brand of…well, it sure as hell can't be called seduction, whatever it is.

Dean pulls his shirt over his head while Cas pushes his pants down, and when Dean glances down to kick his pants the rest of the way off, he's surprised to see that Cas is already as hard as Dean is, and hasn't even been touched yet. Despite Cas' declaration that he was already interested, Dean still hadn't expected him to be _that_ interested yet, and seeing the evidence right there in front of him makes Dean feel a hell of a lot more compelled to believe Cas' words. Not that he has any better idea of what he's done to get Cas there, but Dean isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth and argue about it.

"You have any thoughts on what you'd like to do with this?" Dean asks, running a hand over the hard length tenting Cas' boxer briefs, and grinning when Cas' hips buck into his hand.

"I take it by your word choice that you're offering to let me do something _to_ _you_ with it?" Cas asks huskily, lifting an eyebrow questioningly.

Now that it's been put plainly, yeah, Dean wouldn't mind that at all, so he gives Cas a wide, lascivious grin as he continues rubbing over Cas' erection. "If you want. I'm fine with whatever you have in mind, though."

Cas' eyes go dark in that way that sends a shiver of anticipation up Dean's spine, and then Cas is putting his hand over Dean's where it's still cupping him, and guiding it with a little more pressure than before as he pushes his hips unabashedly into the touch.

"Do you want my cock tonight, Dean?" Cas asks brazenly, with the beginnings of a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Instead of answering right away, Dean maneuvers his hand so he can reach down in Cas' underwear and wrap his hand around Cas' length and give it a proper stroke, feeling pleased when Cas' breath hitches.

"One of the prettiest cocks I've ever seen, Cas, so hell yeah I want it," Dean says shamelessly. There may be plenty of things that Dean is reserved about, but sex is not one of them, ever since he realized long ago that most people appreciate an enthusiastic partner.

Cas gives a single blink of surprise at the lack of any semblance of resistance in answering the question honestly, before a faintly shy look flickers across his face, probably due to the blatant compliment. He recovers quickly though, and shoves his boxer briefs off with a grin.

"Good, because I'd really like to fuck you," he says, grin still in place as he reaches to steady himself with Dean's shoulder so he can kick his underwear off. Somehow, the grin manages to make the statement sound innocently excited, like a kid being told they can have a cookie, rather than lewd.

No, it is definitely not a little bit adorable.

Dean shoves his own boxers off hastily and climbs up on the bed, splaying his legs shamelessly with a leer and holding the lube out as Cas joins him, settling between Dean's knees. Cas chuckles at the eager display, shaking his head.

"And here I thought I'd be the one bottoming tonight," he mutters to himself, amusement coloring his voice as he removes his glasses and leans to set them on the nightstand.

"Why's that?"

Cas shrugs, knee-walking a little bit closer, and resting his hand on Dean's thigh. "Because _you_ were the one trying to seduce _me_ , so I figured you were wanting to _get_ some ass, not the other way around."

"Well I don't think seducing or foreplay or whatever has to be a means to a specific end. Maybe I just wanted to-" Dean cuts himself off with a shake of his head and a sigh before he can say something stupid, like _I wanted to be the sexy one for once._ "Will you just get down here and kiss me already? Wanna make out for a damn minute, if that's okay with you," Dean says gruffly.

Cas tilts his head a little bit with a fond look that Dean suspects is indicative of Cas having read between the lines, and it's making Dean nervous. Cas' thumb is brushing absently over the soft skin of Dean's inner thigh, and he looks like he wants to say something, but doesn't have his words pieced together. After a moment though, he settles on drizzling some lube on his fingers, and leaning forward until he's balanced on one forearm, careful to keep his slicked hand from touching anything, and grants Dean the kiss he'd requested.

At first it's more like a drawn out smooch than anything, but then Cas takes Dean's bottom lip in to suck on it, drawing out a quiet moan from Dean, that Cas takes as permission to move on to more exciting things. He wouldn't be wrong. Dean is more than fine with opening up to allow Cas entry, though he is surprised when Cas keeps the kiss fairly light, only caressing their tongues together and teasing the tip of his tongue against Dean's every few seconds before retreating to kiss him closed-mouth, but firm. The process repeats a few times, seeming almost playfully affectionate, like the kissing version of stealing a grope with your partner in public, and glancing around to see if anyone caught sight of it.

No two kisses they've shared have been the same, and Dean kind of likes not knowing what to expect, except that he knows he'll enjoy it, because frankly, Cas is a damn fine kisser. That's not the entire reason he'd asked Cas to kiss him though, and Dean knows it. When it comes down to it, Dean just can't handle a round of impersonal fucking after the day they've had. And maybe he also just needs some reassurance that Cas really does want to be his friend- which implies some level of care- and doesn't just want to use him, because that line of thought kind of hurts.

Cas ends the kiss a minute later with a little nibble to Dean's lip, and makes his way across Dean's jaw, pausing when he gets to Dean's ear. "Are you clean?" he asks, barely audible, before giving a little suck to the lobe. At Dean's nod, Cas hums a pleased sound. "Good, because I'd really like to be able to suck your cock bare, while I finger you open," he says, reaching down between them and going right for it, rubbing two fingers against Dean's pucker. Dean grunts a surprised sound, which turns into a sound of pleasure when Cas rubs a circle with just enough pressure to tease but not breach the rim. "And I'm clean too, by the way," Cas adds in a murmur against the skin of Dean's neck, before sucking a kiss right below his ear that makes Dean shiver.

Hot damn, but Cas' assertiveness gets Dean going. It should feel abrupt, but somehow it just doesn't, and it occurs to Dean that it's because abruptness is not what it is. Cas simply assumes that Dean grasps his train of thought and doesn't even think about elaborating on the points in between sentences. Jesus. It's not purposeful bluntness or impatience at all; his brain is just so goddamned efficient most of the time that even his thought processes can't work around seemingly unnecessary information or actions. Dean knows there are many different kinds of 'smart', but fuck if Cas' brand wouldn't make him a force to be reckoned with, were he to be in a more dangerous field than corporate paper slinging. Soldier, spy, mafia… _assassin._

Shit, that should be _worrying_ , not _hot_. But damned if Dean's brain isn't already wondering what Cas' specialty would have been in that creepy-ass angel family, if he hadn't been stolen away by Gabriel. And the worst part is, Dean's imagination seems to have zero problems supplying him with an image of Cas wearing one of his suits for a very different reason, gloved hands aiming a silenced gun and that calculating, predatory eye considering his shot. Not that Dean would wish in a million years such a brutal and cold life upon Cas, or for him to be inevitably hardened by it into a different creature. But it's still kind of hot though, to imagine the things Cas could be capable of, and especially knowing that because it's _Cas_ , he'd probably try at some point to find a way to utilize his skills for something more useful than blowing people's heads off. To have all the destructive potential of a loaded gun, but held at bay by such a small thing as the safety. Much like Dean himself, to be honest.

And just like that, Dean feels an odd sort of understanding as to why he and Cas seem to work well together when they're on the same page; they really might not be all that different, after all. The realization brings on a sudden, confused shock of new respect and affection for Cas, and when Dean looks up, he finds those blues peering down at him curiously, and realizes that Cas' hand has stopped moving and pulled away a little bit. Dammit, they were totally in the middle of something before Dean's brain wandered off.

"Are you okay? You zoned out for a second there," Cas says, eyebrows lifted delicately.

A smile spreads on Dean's lips before he plans on it, but he doesn't really care either. "Yeah, I'm good, actually."

Cas looks skeptical, and Dean huffs a breath at Cas' tendency to not let him get away with avoiding subjects that concern him.

"Just thinking about that giant brain of yours," Dean says, tapping a finger to Cas' temple, and earning a somewhat confused face. "I just like the way it works, is all," he adds.

"Thank you?" Cas says uncertainly, just looking plain confused now. "But I'm also unsure whether I should be concerned for my skills, or if your attention span is just that short."

"It's your _skills_ that got me thinking, alright? But I swear I'm done now, so can we please get back to the thing where you were getting ready to make sure I _can't_ think straight?" Dean asks, squirming his ass in a promise of interest, and adding in an eyebrow waggle.

Cas sighs, looking mildly irritated at the utter dissipation of the aroused air, and Dean can't help but find the grumpiness endearing. He isn't sure when he gained the ability to find it anything but annoying, but he still wants to kiss the near-pout off of Cas' face anyway, so he leans up to do just that. Cas makes a half-assed effort at trying to continue making the face for about three seconds, but loses the fight when Dean flicks his tongue against Cas' lips and squirms his ass again in encouragement. With a sound in his throat that would directly translate to 'fine' if it were a word, Cas lets Dean pull him down by the neck and opens up to let Dean lick into his mouth.

They kiss with an almost lazy sort of ease that feels good enough on its own for a minute, until Cas starts rubbing on his rim again, and Dean groans into the kiss. Cas obliges him then with a few filthy twists of his tongue, before pulling away with an impish smile to make his way down Dean's body, licking and sucking kisses down Dean's belly until he gets to his cock and flicks his tongue against that bundle of nerves on the underside of the head. Cas chuckles when Dean grunts as his cock leaps at the touch. Dean looks down his body and catches Cas' eye just in time to watch him do it again with a shit-eating grin on his face that promises all kinds of good things.

"Cas, don't tease, you bastard," Dean whines a little. "You have no idea what you look like right now, and I can't handle-"

Dean's words are lost on a moan when Cas does exactly what he'd said he wanted to do, and takes the head into his mouth to suckle on it, eyes not leaving Dean's for a instant as he swirls his tongue around. Holy hell, the sight is just as arousing as Dean had imagined, and only gets worse when Cas lowers his mouth down to take in a good four inches as he slips half his index finger in Dean's hole. Dean bites his lip trying to stave off the embarrassing sound that wants to come out at finally seeing and feeling Cas' mouth wrapped around his cock, but Cas pulls off only a moment later.

"You're very tight," Cas comments casually, pushing at one of Dean's cheeks to get a better look, and experimentally swirling the finger around a little bit.

Dean lets out a deep breath, willing his muscles to relax, and thanking the deities he doesn't believe in that Cas' fingers are slimmer than his own, because so far it feels a hell of a lot better than the few times he's tried it on his own before chickening out or getting irritated at not being able to find a comfortable position.

"Yeah, well I'm sure you'll get me there," Dean says, grunting when Cas pushes the rest of his finger in.

Cas nods, humming thoughtfully as he uses his other hand to stroke loosely at Dean's cock.

"I'll try to make sure you aren't too sore tomorrow," he says earnestly, slowly starting to pump his finger in and out.

"Thanks. I'm bowlegged enough as it is," Dean says dryly.

The comment makes Cas' lips curl up in amusement, and in a surprisingly affectionate move, he turns his head to kiss the inside of Dean's knee. "All the better to wrap your legs around me when I've got my cock buried in you," he says, giving a harder thrust of his finger.

Dean moans lowly, and rocks his hips a little bit, starting to enjoy the sensation. Between the careful, but sensual movements, and Cas mouthing at his cock again, it takes surprisingly little time for Dean to take a second finger. It's about the point where Cas starts sucking on one of Dean's balls that he finds Dean's prostate, and Dean makes a rather loud, undignified sound; god, he'd almost forgotten how good that could feel, it's been so long. Cas starts pumping and stretching a little more earnestly then, brushing over that bundle of nerves every few strokes, until Dean isn't merely humming and moaning, but all-out groaning and writhing within minutes.

"Fuck… _oh god_ your fingers… _so_ fucking good," Dean's starting to babble. "More," he demands, tugging urgently on Cas' hair, which he didn't even realize he'd had his fingers in.

Cas lets out a sudden, loud groan at the tug, and noticeably shudders beneath Dean's hand. When Dean glances down, Cas has his eyes scrunched closed and his free hand squeezing at the base of his cock while he inhales a few deep breaths. Dean didn't even realize Cas was getting so worked up, and sure as hell didn't know until now that Cas likes having his hair pulled a little bit, but Dean definitely files that away for future use.

"I knew you wanted my fingers, but god _damn_ , baby," Cas says, voice hoarse and a bit wobbly before he swallows.

A shiver rolls up Dean's spine at the pet name because so far, Cas has only ventured to call him that teasingly; but that just now was _not_ teasing, and Dean isn't sure if Cas even realizes he'd said it. Like hell is Dean going to mention it though, because he's never been called a pet name, and pathetically, he'd like to pretend for just a moment that that's something he'll get to have sometime in his life. And he most certainly isn't going to think about the fact that he's pretty sure Cas was referring to a hazy memory Dean has of confessing his hand fascination to Cas while he was drunk. Both concepts are equally embarrassing, so instead of saying anything, Dean shows his agreement of Cas' sentiment by rolling his hips down in a suggestion, which makes Cas huff a laugh as he opens his eyes and nods to himself.

"Yeah, okay, I can take a hint," he chuckles, seeming to have collected himself again, and reaching for the lube.

With a freshly slicked hand, Cas takes Dean a few inches into his mouth and sucks a little harder than before as he eases three fingers in, and it's fucking glorious. So far, Dean has just been enjoying the general sensations, but now with the more tangible suggestion of being filled up soon, a whole new level of arousal hits him, and he can't help but start bucking his hips to meet Cas' hand. The movements aren't harsh, but damned if Cas doesn't know how to make the most of even a _careful_ thrust, and Dean is about to go mad with the sensations, not even trying to conceal his sounds or control his face anymore. Christ, if this goes on much longer with the twisting and the curling with those goddamned fingers, he's going to come a lot sooner than he wants to, so he makes an effort to take a calming breath.

Dean notices then, that he can hear how Cas' breaths are quickened, and lifts his head, immediately finding Cas' eyes glued to Dean's ass, looking at once intensely focused, and so utterly aroused that Dean doesn't even need to look down to know that Cas must be oozing pre-come by now.

Of course he looks, anyway, and yep. That just does it; Dean wants that cock inside him, _right the fuck now_.

"Inside," Dean barks, squeezing pointedly around the hand in his ass.

"You sure about-"

"Dammit Cas, fuck me already," Dean insists. He doesn't miss the pleased curl of Cas' lips, but couldn't give a shit less, because he's too worked up, and can only imagine that he'd be just as smug if the roles were reversed.

Cas grabs the condom, and a disappointed whine reaches Dean's throat before he can cut it off. Cas quirks a brow at the noise as he withdraws his hand gingerly from Dean's hole.

"You realize that this could save you a mess, right?" Cas asks, gesturing with the packet pinched between two of his fingers.

"Shower in the mornin'. Never done it without and I wanna feel you," Dean says, refusing to let the plea leak into his voice.

Cas takes another moment to look him over, before tossing the package and reaching for the lube, a happy smile spreading on his face. "I haven't either," he confesses, drizzling a bit more over Dean's hole, before slicking himself up. "Any preference on position?"

"Yeah. The one where you've got your dick inside me already," Dean snarks.

Cas huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "Bossy, bossy. Should've known," he says to himself.

Dean pulls his thighs as close to his chest as he can manage, and Cas scoots right in, then grasps his cock to run the head over Dean's rim, and moans an "oh" at the entirely new sensation.

"…This may be a kind of short show, because I'm not even in yet, and that feels fucking _amazing_ ," Cas says, looking a touch embarrassed. "So um, don't hold back, alright?"

Dean nods enthusiastically, and Cas starts pushing in slowly, both men moaning at the sensation of so much more heat and wet than either of them is used to feeling directly. The stretch doesn't burn nearly as much as Dean anticipated, and once the head makes it past the first ring of muscle, Dean relaxes substantially, realizing that that really was the worst of it. By the time Cas is fully seated and has dropped down to rest his weight on his forearms on either side of Dean's shoulders, the man is visibly trembling and breathing hard as he tries to collect himself.

"Holy fuck, you feel incredible," Cas declares earnestly, voice tight and eyes scrunched closed in concentration.

Dean doesn't know how to respond to the blatant praise, so he stays quiet, running his hands over Cas' back until the man seems calmer. With only a look exchanged between them, Cas gives a shallow, experimental thrust, and at Dean's hum of satisfaction, Cas pulls back a little further this time, giving a deeper thrust that earns him a moan. With each thrust, Cas pushes just a little harder, a little deeper, until he's found a good pace that they both seem to be able to handle that feels good, but won't send either of them over too quickly.

Dean has never been fucked by _anyone_ the way Cas is approaching it, but then again, he fucks like he seems to do most other things: methodical and deliberate, but not mechanical. Without the- albeit typically thin- barrier between them, Dean doesn't feel like he needs to be fucked within an inch of his life at the moment, because the sensations he's always missed out on are making up for it. It's just so…smooth, and holy shit, does that make a difference. His legs are slipping down from where he has them wrapped around Cas, so Dean angles his hips up to readjust and Cas not only goes impossibly deeper, but manages to tag Dean's prostate dead-on in the process.

"Hoooly shit," Dean groans, legs pulling Cas closer so he can grind himself down on Cas' cock.

Cas grits out a curse and moans, pulling back his hips as much as Dean's legs will allow him before snapping back in with the first forceful thrust since this began, and oh god, Dean was wrong. So _so_ wrong, because suddenly the idea of Cas fucking him within an inch of his life sounds exactly like what Dean wants.

"Do that again," Dean orders, keening when Cas obeys. "Oh god, keep doing that," Dean commands, lifting his ass up even higher off the bed.

"Won't last as long," Cas shakes his head.

"Don't fucking care," Dean argues.

Without another word, Cas does as he was bid, though still seeming mindful of not being brutal about it, and Dean has no idea how in the hell the man can still be exerting so much control. Within a couple minutes, Dean can tell they're both getting close though, considering that Cas is getting noisier and slowly losing the steady rhythm he'd been working, and Dean is starting to hear the blood rushing in his ears. Jerking himself off now, with Cas' cock filling and re-filling him is like a fucking religious experience, and Dean wonders why in the hell they haven't done this before now. Christ, if he'd known Cas could make it feel this damn good, he would've let the man fuck him weeks ago, regardless of prickly exchanges.

"Cas," Dean wheezes, feeling his balls starting to draw up.

The man's face looks nothing short of relieved at the implied warning, and he seems to find a second wind, at least for the time being.

"Dean _please_. Please come," Cas flat-out pleads, doing his damnedest to hit Dean's prostate with every thrust.

A handful of seconds later, Dean is coming with a loud groan, not even noticing the fact that he's had his fingers buried in Cas' hair again, until his fingers tighten in it. The tug rips a groan from Cas, and then he's following Dean right over the edge, cock pulsing as his whole body seems to contract and relax repeatedly with the waves of his orgasm. Dean doesn't know why he'd expected to feel the ejaculate actually coming out, since it realistically wouldn't be all that distinguishable due to body temperature, but he still feels absurdly disappointed at the absence of sensation.

Cas finally seems to have unlocked from the spasms wracking his body and thrusts slowly a few times, working both of them through the last of it, and that’s when Dean feels it; unless he grew magical lube glands in his ass, that is _definitely_ come slipping around in there. He knows it should probably feel gross, but dammit, Dean fucking _enjoys_ it. Cas starts to pull out after a few seconds, but Dean clamps down, barking out a "No," without a thought. Dean feels a hot flash of embarrassment almost instantly, when he realizes what he's just done as Cas groans a half-pained sound that morphs into a breathless laugh. Abruptly relaxing his muscles and closing his eyes, Dean is both surprised and mortified at his own behavior; _never_ has he attempted to keep someone from pulling out at the end, and he can't deny at all that that's exactly what just happened.

Cas does slip out of him then, but instead of just rolling off like Dean expects, Cas brings his clean hand up to cup Dean's face and kisses his forehead, seemingly unperturbed that Dean is resolutely keeping his eyes shut. The gesture makes Dean's face heat even more, and it's not helped at all by the fact that Cas can probably feel it seeping into the skin of his hand.

"Hey, I'm not judging you, okay?" Cas says softly as he thumbs at Dean's cheek, seeming to home right in on Dean's sudden change in demeanor. "To be honest, I'm just really fucking flattered that I made you feel good enough to want to keep me around," he says earnestly, and Dean can hear the smile in his voice.

Dean sighs and throws an arm over his eyes as Cas withdraws his hand and finally rolls off to the side to let them both finish catching their breath. Not that Dean regrets what they just did, that's not it all; he may not have enough experience bottoming to be any kind of buttsex connoisseur, but that felt undeniably awesome. And he suspects that once Cas feels confident knowing what his partner likes, that he's the sort to try and make each time better than the last. Or at least, find a good place and maintain it with minor tweaks. _Methodical_ , Dean thinks again, almost laughing at himself for no particular reason.

The issue right now is just that Dean has never lost himself so much in feeling _good_ , that he would unthinkingly beg with his body for something so personal. Sure, sex is personal by nature of requiring one's body to enter another, but there's a difference between letting your partner know you've enjoyed yourself, and flat-out clinging to them in the most literal way when it's all said and done. That's more enthusiastic than even Dean is comfortable with being.

Cas lets out a deep whoosh of a breath next to him, and then the next breath sounds much steadier. He doesn't say anything for a beat or two, but then, in the faintest of whispers, "Can I touch you?"

Dean isn't sure if Cas is asking because he wants to reassure Dean or himself, but he nods, because he can't really bring himself to say no for whatever reason. Finally opening his eyes, Dean has to squint a little bit against the light of the bedside lamp, but can still easily see the nervousness on Cas' face. Hesitantly, Cas scoots toward him a few inches, and seeing that Dean isn't going to push him away, squirms in the rest of the way until his front is resting lightly against Dean's side. Cas' arms are still tucked to himself, and he isn't making eye contact as a blush paints his cheeks that should've faded if it were from exertion. This is when Dean realizes that Cas wants to be cuddled but is either too embarrassed, or too afraid of being rejected to outright ask for it.

Goddammit, how does the man even do that? There should be a rule against being able to go from sexy to endearing in mere minutes.

With a sigh, Dean lifts his arm above his head and scoots his body in tighter to Cas' front. Cautiously, Cas stretches his arm and leg across Dean's body, before feeling confident enough to lay his head on Dean's shoulder. Cas' body doesn't actually relax though, until Dean brings his arm down to rest his hand on Cas' spine and brush his thumb along a couple of the knobs. The only sound for the next several minutes is the soft hush of their breathing, and the whisper of Dean's hand stroking absently along Cas' back. Admittedly, it feels nice, despite the stickiness that's cooled on his stomach, and eventually soothes most of the anxiety Dean had been feeling, because apparently, Dean wasn't the only one needing some comfort tonight.

Dean is nearly asleep when Cas squeezes gently at the side of his ribs and suggests they clean up and go to bed. That feels like a thing that takes energy though, and Dean grumbles as much, earning a snort of laughter, and then a deep sigh several seconds later, when Dean still hasn't moved. The next thing Dean knows, the towel is being yanked out forcefully from beneath him like the world's most perverse tablecloth trick, and he's pretty sure he's going to have some kind of friction burn along his ass in the morning. He tries to glare at Cas, but doesn't quite manage it, in light of the open glee on the man's face, even as he continues chuckling while using the towel to wipe the both of them up as best he can manage without leaving the bed.

"'S _my_ job," Dean grumbles, though he doesn't actually do anything to stop the actions, either.

Cas nods seriously, though there's a twinkle in his eye as he tosses the towel on the floor.

"Perhaps, but outsourcing seemed to be the most logical course of action, considering that you weren't showing me any projections on anticipated productivity," Cas says, lips twitching as he tries to keep a straight face.

"Mmmm, talk nerdy to me, baby," Dean purrs sarcastically, finally finding the energy to at least get the covers pushed down from underneath them, so they can both get covered up.

Cas chuckles lightly as he slides under the covers and switches the lamp off.

"I believe there may be an exception to that particular protocol, that if the original holder of the position can prove that it would be a more efficient use of assets to have the necessary tasks reassigned to their department, then they can submit a formal request in writing, along with their revised plan of action," Cas says, managing to somehow put a sultry lilt in his voice.

To Dean's internal horror, he finds that the stupid spiel actually…shit…it actually makes his cock twitch. Just a little. Well, okay, maybe it's more like a little penile nod of approval at the sound of Cas' voice than an actual twitch, because come on, of course Dean wouldn't get turned on at how quickly Cas is able to switch his language into formal business mode. That's just preposterous. Pffft.

Cas makes a thoughtful sound next to his ear that tickles Dean's neck, where Cas has decided to plaster himself against Dean's side again, not hesitantly at all this time. But then his hand slides from Dean's stomach, and- _oh no_ \- down to his cock. Dammit. "Seems you're amenable to the proposal, Mr. Winchester," Cas says, voice unnecessarily gravelly, and chuckling when Dean's cock nods its approval a little more eagerly this time.

Shit.

"I hate you so much," Dean mutters.

"No you don't," Cas singsongs, a blatant smile in his words.

Dean bats Cas' hand away before his dick decides that it's had enough recovery time, and Cas uses that hand to pat affectionately at Dean's belly. Sighing in resignation, Dean closes his eyes and rolls over to let Cas spoon in behind him, because it's not like he has any chance of playing it cool now, anyway.

"Snuggle in, motherfucker," Dean gruffs.

Just as Dean had intended, it gets a laugh out of Cas, who does indeed snuggle in, wedging a knee in between Dean's thighs. It still feels kind of strange settling in to sleep next to someone, but the knot of worry that would normally be taking up residence in his stomach is only a small stone at the moment, so Dean contents himself with it as much as he can and just hopes that he isn't being careless in letting himself relax a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who might write or read ABO, yes, that was a purposeful nod in your direction if you noticed it :) Also, if you're not aware and curious to what Dean was singing, it was "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" by The Proclaimers. I have no regrets.


	17. Rex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some awkwardness and shipper!Charlie and human version of smitey!Cas :)

The shrill sound of Cas' alarm grates on his nerves the moment it goes off, and he immediately flails an arm out to make it stop. Not that he'd really been doing more than dozing, but the sound still annoys him, as it reminds him within seconds that there’s yet another trial to face today: work. He and Dean have played around enough in their newlywed act that Cas isn't worried anymore about being able to pull it off for the gossips at Rex.

No, the real concern is whether Crowley will be there, and if so, whether he'll have something to say. After the bluster of the last several days, Cas could seriously use just one day where nothing overly eventful happens. With this thought, he realizes that his brain is already working its way to full consciousness now, and with a resigned sigh, he figures he may as well get up.

It's only once he's in the shower and appreciating the slow release of tension from muscles that had fallen into disuse, that Cas considers the events of the night before. Despite the somewhat awkward moments, it had been some of the better sex Cas has had in a long time; openly enthusiastic partners aren’t so easy to come by. Heh, come. No, but really, it was nice to feel so desired for once, and not just be one nameless person hooking up with another. There’s no telling if Dean is going to relapse into the freakout he’d begun last night, but Cas hopes that Dean wakes up still believing that Cas hadn’t been judging him. After all, Cas _had_ lowered some of his own defenses by requesting the cuddling, for both his own selfish want, as well as a show of good faith that Dean could trust him not to be insensitive.

The thoughts on sex with Dean are doing no favors for Cas' dick, so he makes a purposeful mental switch to thinking about the banalities they need to take care of, like breaking Dean's lease, and changing their information with HR. Yeah, that does the trick; nothing makes an erection wilt in sad resignation like thinking about paperwork. Finishing up quickly so there's plenty of hot water for Dean, Cas hops out and wraps his towel around his waist after a quick rub over his hair. He's only about a third of the way into shaving, when a very naked and very sleepy-looking Dean shuffles in, scratching lazily at his chest and yawning. Without even so much as a 'good morning', Dean goes right to the toilet, and Cas looks back to the mirror as Dean proceeds to empty his bladder with a relieved groan, and not a shred of modesty.

What Cas is expecting then, is for Dean to either get right in the shower, or shuffle back out to the bedroom. What he is _not_ expecting is for Dean to step over and come in for his daily grope the moment Cas has his razor under the running water. Cas startles with a sharp inhale, then barely suppresses a shiver at the deep chuckle next to his ear as Dean continues to palm lazily at the towel-covered ass cheek in his hand.

Dean hums a contented sound that morphs into an unfairly deep and sleep-roughened, "Mornin'."

Alrighty, then. Apparently, Dean _doesn’t_ seem to have any hang-ups about what they’d done, and Cas can't help but sigh in his relief and lean into the touch.

"Good morning. I take it you're feeling okay?" Cas asks, meaningfully tilting his head and flicking his eyes downward.

With a final, quick little squeeze, Dean steps back with a small smirk on his face. "Yeah, doing good so far," he says, then turns to grab a towel off the little stand behind them. "And um, I slept well, too," he adds quietly.

Cas already figured that, but the confession still brings a smile to his face. "Good. I'm glad to hear that. On both accounts," he says, feeling fondness bubble up when Dean ducks his head with his own little smile.

The rest of the morning routine goes by without a hitch, which Cas honestly hadn't optimistic about. But they seem to finish getting ready about the same time, and after a quick discussion they abandon the idea of driving separately in light of the fact that Cas will need to leave work earlier than usual, anyway. There's just too much to be done afterward to try putting in his normal hours today.

When they pull up to the parking garage for Rex, Dean is almost gleeful when he realizes that Cas has one of those nice reserved parking spaces, and that he gets to use it as long as Cas is with him. Their arrival in that particular area of the garage raises a few eyebrows from other eighth-floor employees that Cas sees regularly, and he gives every one of them a polite smile that could easily verge on a smirk if he doesn't keep it in check.

"Dude, they're looking at me like I just showed up to the Red Carpet in sweatpants," Dean whispers as they walk toward the elevator.

"Well, they're looking at me like I just showed up at the wrong awards show," Cas murmurs around a smile.

Dean snorts a laugh, and within a minute they're sharing more amused glances, as their mere presence in the elevator results in three different throats being awkwardly cleared. And of course, they pretend to be completely oblivious to the uptight asshats’ discomfort.

When they reach the lobby, Benny is manning the security desk, and when he spots them, a knowing smirk creeps across his face. Dean takes Cas' hand and Benny's smirk widens as they walk over toward him, where he's coming around the desk to greet them.

"Hey brother, heard you got hitched," Benny says, clapping a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezing. The hand lingers for a moment, and Cas feels an irrational twinge of discomfort as he watches the display.

"Sure did," Dean grins, sliding his arm around Cas' waist.

"Well congrats, y'all. Oh, and when you get up there, tell Miss Thang I said thank you, will ya? She'll know what you're talking about," Benny winks.

Dean abruptly levels an unimpressed look on Benny. "How much did you put in?" he asks flatly.

Benny doesn't look surprised at all that Dean knows about the bet and shrugs. "Enough," he hedges with a twinkle in his eye, then looks at Cas. "You gonna join us sometime for trivia night?"

Cas has no idea what Benny's talking about, but it's obviously something Dean normally does, so he bullshits his way through as if he's known all along and Dean gives his side an appreciative but subtle squeeze when they finish making plans for Friday night. As Dean wraps up the conversation, Cas takes the opportunity to glance around, and sure enough, they've attracted at least five sets of eyes on them. Yeah, gathering witnesses to their newly wedded bliss won't be hard at all. Bring on the subpoenas.

When they make it to the Nerd Cave a few minutes later, Charlie is already there, and gives the men a grin. Chuck is also there, and upon seeing their arrival, adopts a long-suffering look and stands up, cutting off whatever greeting Charlie had been prepared to give.

"I'm going across the street for coffee. You guys want anything while I'm there?" he offers, looking grateful when everyone has requests. Probably glad to have the excuse to stay away longer, as he seems to have no desire to be witness to the goings-on between the other three.

As soon as he's out the door, Charlie looks between Dean and Cas with a smirk, but both men ignore it in favor of taking their seats on opposite sides of Dean’s desk. Dean does well in being subtle, but Cas still notices the way Dean sits down is gentler than his typical flop into a seat, and Cas presses his lips together to stop himself from grinning. If Charlie notices any of it, she doesn’t let on, though it’s hard to say, because she’s still smirking. God, what is it with everyone and all the smirking? 

"I was watching the feed when you showed up, and you guys totally sold it on the way up here, with the handholding and the smiling and all,” Charlie launches right in. “Holy crap sticks, some of the reactions were hilarious. One poor guy was mooning over Cas and got super pissy when you put your hand on Cas' back on the way into the elevator," she babbles at Dean. Then she turns to Cas. "Dude, one lady looked like she'd swallowed her tongue when you reached out to grab Dean’s hand, and stared for a good ten seconds. Pretty sure she had _holy shit he's gay_ running on a loop in her head," she snorts.

"I've never hidden that," Cas mutters, rolling his eyes.

"How come no one was giving looks or mooning over me? I'm hot too," Dean cuts in, voice dangerously close to a pout.

Cas certainly agrees with the hotness assessment, and can't hold back the lecherous grin this time, because yeah, he totally got to tap that. A soft blush rises on Dean's cheeks when he catches sight of the look, and Cas grins even wider when Dean looks away and shifts subtly in his seat. Damn, that’s an ego boost, knowing that he can get that reaction with merely a look.

"Ew, Castiel, stop with the gross look," Charlie butts in from her desk. "I seriously don't need to know what your bedroom eyes look like, and especially with Dean," she says, nose wrinkling.

Whoops. That look must have come off much dirtier than Cas realized. But because he's in a good mood, instead of offering an apology, Cas simply turns a toned down version of the look on Charlie just to get a reaction.

"Ugh, no, why would you do that?" she asks, looking somewhere between disgusted and holding back a laugh as she puts up a hand to shield herself from Cas' face. "Dean, make him stop. It's so disturbing on so many levels," she says, finally laughing and making a show of shuddering.

Cas cackles quietly, offering Charlie a shit-eating grin. Admittedly, he's growing fond of the redhead, and it feels nice to have someone besides Dean that has an idea of how Cas really is, apart from his suit.

"So. Any news?" Dean asks abruptly, pointedly ignoring the totally adult exchange between the other two.

Twirling in her seat to face her monitors, Charlie starts typing and clicking as she speaks.

"Actually, yes. Sorry for the hack Cas, but you got an email in your personal account last night that should’ve gone straight to spam but didn’t, from one of those dot-info addresses. The sender was 'johnsonbiggs', and-"

"Gabriel," Cas cuts her off, sitting up straight and snapping to attention. "It's an old inside joke about- never mind, not important," he shakes his head. "Go on."

The other two both look faintly amused, but in the name of business, no snark is given, and Charlie looks back to her screen and starts typing again.

"Well, at first it looked like one of those typical spams about finding local singles, but then I noticed something kind of weird. Usually, those emails either use your IP address to find your approximate area to make the message look authentic, or they don't include your area at all, and just advertise the website," she says, striking a few more keys before looking over and gesturing for the men to come look at her screen. “Plus, there’s also the fact that all the pictures are of porn stars. And don’t you dare judge me for knowing that,” she warns.

The men crowd in over either of her shoulders without comment, to look at the screen shot of the email in question. As expected, there's the typical drivel and graphics you'd find in one of those messages, but something catches Cas’ eye within seconds of scanning over the image.

_"Sound too good to be true? Check out these testimonials."_

Below that is a row of five stock pictures of what are indeed porn stars, each labeled with generic first names and cities where they're supposedly located, spanning across the country. Four of those cities are places where Cas and Gabriel ran into some sort of memorable trouble that had required Cas to keep his head down and play along while Gabriel worked them out of it. One of the testimonials though, is located in San Francisco. By the time the Novak brothers had made it to California, they were both grown and hadn't needed to dodge anything in years.

"Did you click on San Francisco?" Cas asks.

While Charlie works on pulling up the screen shot, Cas takes a moment to fill Dean in on what has caught his attention. Dean raises his eyebrows and nods, looking impressed at Gabriel's sneakiness, before they both look back to where Charlie has the San Francisco screen shot ready. The testimonial is just two paragraphs, from the point of view of a man talking about his sad lack of a love life due to spending so many hours at work. Nothing surprising, but definitely aimed at Cas. By the second paragraph though:

_"If it weren't for my brother nudging me to try it out, I never would've met my wife, Delia, and I can't imagine what my life would be like without her. She's my friend, my lover, and my greatest ally, and I count my blessings everyday that I get to come home to her. I can't recommend this service enough, and if you're reading this, just know that there is hope. No matter where you are in your life, there's somebody out there for you, so why not make it a little easier on yourself?"_

"That's…not subtle at all," Dean says, straightening back up.

"Actually, it kind of is," Charlie retorts with a shrug. "The other testimonials are just as sappy, so this one blends right in if you don't know what you're looking for."

Both men go back to their seats, Dean with the beginnings of a frown pinching at his eyebrows, and Cas feeling relieved that Gabriel is in the know.

“I’m guessing Crowley found a way to feed him the news about me and Cas under the radar,” Dean says tiredly.

“Probably,” Cas and Charlie intone at the same time.

Dean nods, leaning back in his seat and rocking a little bit. “Sounds to me like Gabriel wants us to just play house, and drop the issue with that whole ‘there is hope’ line. I don’t like sitting on my hands and no offense, but I don’t know Gabriel, and sure as hell don’t trust someone I don’t know to look out for us,” he frowns.

“Do you trust _me_?” Cas asks seriously.

“Well _yeah_ , but-”

“Then I need you trust when I say that if Gabriel is telling us to lay low, it’s for a reason, and not just brotherly concern. We don’t know what he’s doing, much less Crowley, and if we do more than simple research, there’s a very real possibility that we could gum up something important. Until we talk to Crowley again and can glean some idea of what’s going on, I think we should follow Gabriel’s advice.”

Dean doesn’t looked pleased at all by the argument, but Cas knows that the man can weigh risks just as well as himself, and sees the moment Dean concedes the point.

“You know I’m not saying that we shouldn’t keep our eyes and ears open in case we do need to act, right?” Cas adds to his argument, though more softly than before.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean sighs, scratching at his jaw. “Just don’t like being in the dark like this, and working almost entirely on improvisation.”

“My brother managed to hide us for at least twenty years from what I’m pretty sure is a faction of the Russian mafia. Gabriel’s ways may not always be- well, to be honest, are _rarely_ ethical, but he gets the job done. I guarantee that even Crowley doesn’t have all the information, because my brother isn’t stupid; he wouldn’t give Crowley the means to sabotage anything. Same probably goes for Crowley, but still.”

On a sigh, Dean reaches the few inches across the desk where both their hands are resting, to play absently with Cas’ fingers. “Guess we’re back to just flying by the seat of our pants, then,” he grumbles, pointedly turning the wedding band on Cas’ finger.

Regardless of the many times they’ve acknowledged the marriage, they both seem to have ignored the metal on their fingers, with the exception of during the wedding. Now that Dean has blatantly called attention to it though, something odd pulls at Cas’ gut that he can’t quite put his finger on. He’s fairly confident that it’s related to the corner of his mind that’s been quarantining the whole identity issue, but the feeling is gone too quickly to fully grasp. That’s okay though; this isn’t the time to think about it anyway. With nothing left to discuss on the matter, they both need to get in the mindset of their actual jobs that still exist in reality, and get on with their workday.

Dean agrees to Cas’ suggestion that they forgo working on the project so they can each catch up on their regular work, and they make plans to eat together in the cafeteria. Cas groans at the prospect of cafeteria food, but doesn’t argue because they do need to get in one good blatant act of publicity. After today though, if anyone wants to gawk at them, they can do it elsewhere in the building. Cas didn’t suffer the cafeterias in both high school and college so he could continue the habit as a grown adult. Not that he likes to admit it, but the setting makes his skin crawl with the memories of shitty days as the new kid, either sitting alone, or being harassed by douchebags that wanted to make sure Cas understood his place in the food chain.

Everything that can be is squared away for now, so Dean walks Cas the ten or so feet to the door as Cas makes his leave. The old-fashioned- and completely unnecessary- show of manners is still endearing, and without a thought, Cas leans in to give Dean a quick smooch of approval. Dean kisses right back, but when they pull apart, green eyes widen a fraction and they both freeze at the realization that they just acted on genuine affection with _Charlie_ as witness. It doesn’t feel strange when they do this in private, but doing it around the one friend that knows the bullshit of their marriage makes something screech to a halt in both their brains.

Neither man dares look in her direction, hoping she didn’t-

“Oh good grief, you two are ridiculous,” Charlie huffs, tone laced with amusement as she sheers off all hope not calling attention to it.

Both men turn slowly as one to look at their friend, who seems to have been waiting for them to do so, just so she could give a mighty eyeroll and know it would be seen.

“Yes, I saw it, and I’m not surprised at all, so you can both quit with the deer in headlights looks,” she scoffs with another eyeroll above a small smile. “Besides, it only makes the victory of winning the bet that much sweeter,” she grins, the very picture of smug.

“Benny says thanks, by the way,” Dean says dryly.

“And I thank you too, Charlie. For everything,” Cas smiles gratefully.

“Yes, the Queen is amazing and protects her subjects and all that good stuff. Now go on, I’ve got strategies to plan out for Sunday’s battle,” she says, making a shooing gesture at Cas. There’s a warm glint in her eyes though, that belies the haughty tone.  

Cas gives her a little wave and shoots Dean an apologetic smile before making his exit. It’s only when he sees Chuck coming around the corner in the hallway, that Cas remembers that he’d been waiting on coffee. He takes the cup gratefully, though Chuck refuses to let him pay for it, and Cas suspects that it has to do with the lack of disciplinary action after having witnessed Chuck making his Irish coffee one time. Having the cup in his hand triggers Cas’ brain to move toward thoughts of getting work done, and he pointedly pushes the awkwardness of the Nerd Cave incident aside. It’s just one more thing to add onto the ever-growing heap of Things to Be Examined Later, and Later is a time that is not right now, only two minutes after the fact.

Stepping onto the elevator once the doors ding open, Cas internally groans when he sees none other than Zachariah Adler leaning casually against one wall. Zachariah has hated Cas from day one, when his initial job at Rex had been restructuring; Cas had had to report within his first week that he’d determined Adler’s position to be pretty much pointless. Adler was given the choice by Crowley of either following Cas’ suggestions to become a productive member of the organization, or having his job eliminated. _Very_ begrudgingly, Zachariah had chosen to stay; he likes his pomp and corporate perks, after all.

Adler is an arrogant asshole on the best of days, and the smarmy grin on his face tells Cas immediately that the man knows about his and Dean's marriage. So much for having a minute to not think about the Mr. and Mr. Winchester situation. Like hell is Cas going to give the impression that he’s anything less than contentedly married though, so Cas looks Adler right in the eye and gives him a firm nod, exuding confidence.

"Adler," Cas greets, unwilling to be much more polite than that.

"Novak!" Zachariah greets too loudly, voice full of false camaraderie. "Heard you had quite the weekend with your boy Winchester," he leers.

The fact that Adler applied such a flippant tone to something as important as entering a marriage, as if it were no more than an orgiastic weekend in Vegas pisses Cas off, just on principle. He’s also pretty sure there’s an insinuation about Dean in there, but without feeling certain, Cas lets it slide for now, needing to keep a level head.

"I did. Wine Country is quite lovely," Cas replies with a tight smile. He knows that the other man is trying to bait him, but Cas would like to avoid giving into it as long as possible.

The man eyes Cas speculatively before giving a low whistle.

"Your boy must have a lot of talent, if he's good enough to want to chain down for your own," Adler says, impossibly oilier smile sliding onto his face. "Bet you can really put those bowlegs to good use, am I right?" he adds, giving an exaggerated wink.

 _Oh,_ _hell no!_

Even if he and Dean _weren’t_ on good terms, Cas would be angered by Adler being so vulgar; no one should be dehumanized in such a way. Now though, he isn’t merely angry. No, it goes beyond that, and Cas is building toward the point of righteous _wrath_. Within a breath, Cas is as close to the other man as humanly possible without touching, and not even attempting to tone down the snarl on his face. _God_ is it satisfying, watching the asshole's eyes go wide.

"You _will_ refrain from speaking about my _husband_ in such a manner again," Cas growls, right in the other man's face. Collecting himself inwardly, he adds on another threat from the most obvious one of bodily harm. "And for that matter, you'd be wise to remember Rex's policies on inappropriate language and conversations."

Adler recovers quickly, lifting his chin so he can literally look down his nose as he speaks.

"Is that so? Last time I checked, you have no authority over me, and being Crowley's _bitch_ doesn't grant you magical pink slips to hand out at will," he sneers. "So I think I'll take advantage of the first amendment and speak as I please, _Castiel_ ," he adds, hissing Cas' name with the same venom as a curse word.

Cas can handle a lot of shit, but with every word that’s come out of Zachariah's mouth, Cas has felt more of those ominous clouds of wrath gathering into his very being. It takes every shred of self-control Cas has to hold back the lightning and force a smile on his lips, and by the look on Adler's face, that smile must look terrifying. Good.

With a calm that he doesn’t feel within himself at all, Cas reaches up to adjust the lapels on Zachariah's jacket with the hand that isn’t holding his coffee. Just to drag out the discomfort he’s causing, he also brushes imaginary lint from the other man’s shoulders, relishing the harsh bob of Adler's Adam's apple at the seemingly innocuous contact. They've arrived on their floor now, but Cas isn't about to just let this go, and pushes his hand behind himself to hold the elevator door open.

"You're absolutely right. I _don't_ have any say over the status of your employment, so my apologies if I communicated in a way that seemed to imply otherwise," Cas tilts his head, leveling a dark look on the other man. "But all the same, I wish you luck in your endeavors, should you choose to pursue a new line of work," he adds, making sure Zachariah sees him glance toward the black square that hides the security camera in the elevator. With a final, condescending pat to Zachariah's shoulder and a sharp smile, Cas exits the elevator without so much as a parting glance to see if the other man is following behind him.

Hot _damn_ , did that feel good. Maybe not as good as it would've felt to knee the bastard in the groin, but there's certainly a level of satisfaction to be had at knowing that Adler felt threatened. If Cas' outright display of dominance hadn't done the trick, he knows by the way Zachariah blanched at the sight of the camera, that his point was made.

As Cas makes it to Meg’s desk, she abandons her work to lean forward on her elbows and rest her chin on laced fingers. "I know that look, Clarence. You just got away with something, didn't you?" she smiles mischievously.

"I have no idea what you mean," Cas says flatly, though he does feel his lips twitch in residual, vicious pleasure.

Meg levels a knowing look on him that's riding a fine line between respectful admiration, and the beginnings of a leer. For reasons Cas may never understand, the few times he's gotten that look from her have always made him puff up a little bit. He may not be attracted to her necessarily, but Cas can admit to himself that Meg does carry a special brand of allure that's hard to ignore. He can't help then, but to give her a conspiratorial little smile, and she returns it with a light quirk of her brow. The moment passes quickly tough, and Meg looks back down to her computer. Time for business, then.

 

***

 

“So,” Charlie says, the moment Chuck has his headphones clapped on.

Dean groans, despite having known that Charlie would want to talk.

“Oh stop your bitchin’. I don’t have time to pull out the Ben & Jerry’s and play truth or dare,” she says with a small eyeroll.

“Then just get on with whatever you’re wanting to ask or say,” Dean grumps.

“Rude, Winchester. You’re the one that interrupted me to groan,” she points out. “But anyway. I was just going to ask if you two had a talk or something, because you looked way more relaxed around each other than before,” she says. “And not just because you’ve been boning either,” she’s quick to add.

Dean sighs, knowing that if he tries to hedge, Charlie will just ask more questions, so he resigns himself to giving the story, figuring that if he does it on his own terms he can avoid some of the more uncomfortable questions that might come up.

“Long story short, we stopped at Sam’s for dinner on the way back last night, and I lost my temper and said some uh…Cas-positive things in the middle of trying to act offended at Sam for being skeptical. But to be fair, Sam really was being a bitch about it, and it would’ve probably pissed me off a _lot_ more if me and Cas were for real. So anyway, Cas called me out on the…stuff…on the way home and we talked, and both of us apologized for being assholes for so long. We agreed it was time to acknowledge that we’d rather be friends than keep on with the enemies with common interest thing, so I guess we’re just sort of starting fresh,” he shrugs.

Charlie leans back in her seat, looking pleased when Dean finishes his story.

“I’m proud of you, Deanie-weenie,” she teases good-naturedly. “It was about time you two started moving on from that high school bullshit and put on your big boy underoos. And I’m sorry, but that was totally adorable, with walking him to the door and that little ‘have a good day at work, honey’ kiss,” she smirks.

“Dude, we’ve been pretending to be married and doing all that couple shit for four days! It’s already become habit, now!”

Charlie looks to the ceiling as if praying for patience before flopping her head back down with a long-suffering sigh.

“Dean, hate to burst your denial bubble Bud, but that man kissed you just because he felt like it. I saw it with my own eyes, he thought you were being cute and went for it. And you can’t tell me that you haven’t done it to him over the last few days, because Castiel is confusingly endearing once you get him away from work, and you _know_ it,” Charlie challenges.

Pressing his lips together, Dean stares his friend down as the memory of Cas asking for cuddles the night before chooses that moment to manifest. And the stupid planet pants. And of all things, the confirmation this morning that Cas did indeed have his entire outfit picked out, when Dean saw him pull it off a hook inside the closet door, all neatly hung and socks already stuffed in the shoes Cas had chosen. Dammit.

Charlie shoots him a smug look, knowing she’s won when Dean doesn’t have a single word to shoot back in argument.

“Let me know when you decide to acknowledge the crush you’ve got brewing over there, so I can throw you bigass Told You So party. I’ll even throw in cake and punch and streamers,” she says, somehow managing to look even more smug, if at all possible.

Before Dean can even react to that, Charlie abruptly sticks her earbuds back in and whirls around to face her screens, getting the last word. Oh, that little shit. He glares at her for a good fifteen seconds, but all he gets for his effort is the unsubtle curling of Charlie’s lips as she goes about her work, and a blatant refusal to look in Dean’s direction.

With a huff, Dean turns to his own screen, clicking the mouse and punching the keys a little too forcefully as he logs into the system and opens up his email. He tries to read the same message three times, but Dean’s distracted now by his own aggravation at both Charlie and himself. And fuck Cas too, with his goddamned…ugh, _fucking everything_ , that bastard. Dean does not have a crush. Crushes are for teenagers, and thinking about celebrities you admire and/or would screw in a heartbeat if given the opportunity. Grown men don’t have crushes and who the hell does Charlie think she is? Cas is hot and smart and patient and shaping out to be a good friend, so why _wouldn’t_ Dean enjoy that he gets to have naked time with the guy? That’s not a crush. That’s just appreciation. Nothing wrong with being able to like more than just the orgasms, pffft.

 _Except for the part where you totally just validated Charlie’s argument with the last ten seconds of thinking,_ the stupid Sam voice creeps in dryly.

Growling to himself, Dean grabs up his coffee and takes a deep pull. Okay, so maybe Dean does have a little crush (god, why isn’t there a better word for it?) on Cas, so what? It’s not like the guy is hard to like, and Dean would bet money that if Cas actually went out anywhere, that he’d have no shortage of people ready to hop on that. By that logic, it would be weirder if Dean _didn’t_ have a crush on him, right? Hell, even Charlie seems to have a little friend crush on the guy. So it’s not inconceivable that Dean would too, and especially considering that he’s living, working, and sleeping with Cas. It’s simply a matter of statistical likelihood; nothing to get his boxers in a wad over, and certainly nothing he can’t ignore when he needs to. Like right now, where he’s been sitting at his desk, staring blankly at his screen for the last ten minutes. The last thing Dean feels like doing is staring at a computer all day, but it’s better than stewing in his own thoughts, so Dean takes another fortifying swig of coffee and sets about making a better attempt at reading the words in front of him.

 

***

 

The adrenaline from his confrontation with Zachariah has long worn off, and if anything, it’s left Cas feeling sort of drained all morning. Between that, and determining the nearly overwhelming amount of work he needs to catch up on, the last thing Cas feels like doing right now is eating in a loud room full of people. Nonetheless, here he is, waiting outside the lunchroom door for Dean to meet him so they can go in together. It’s only a minute or so of waiting, before Cas spots him exiting the door to the stairwell, and he can tell almost instantly that something isn’t right.

Dean is doing his soldier stomp- as Cas privately calls it- and when their eyes meet, Dean gives him a smile, but it’s too wide, considering his stiff gait. As he makes his way over, Dean greets Cas with a cheery ‘Hey baby’, and a quick peck to his cheek, which doesn’t help Cas’ concern at all; Dean usually goes for his temple. What really seals it though, is when Cas reaches for his hand, and for the briefest moment, Dean’s hand twitches away at the touch before he spreads too-tense fingers to allow space for Cas’ own. It’s everything Cas can do to hold back the frown that’s threatening to pull at his mouth at the feeling of _wrong_ , and paste on what he hopes is a convincing smile. More convincing than Dean’s, anyway.

As they eat, Cas notices that the spark that usually lights Dean’s eyes when he talks is muted, like watching a sunset through a lightly tinted window. The man is being conversational, but it seems to be on autopilot, and it’s disconcerting. Whatever the nature of their interaction at any given time, Dean has always been present in the moment, and Cas doesn’t know what to do with this…muffled version of Dean.

If it hadn’t been for that hand twitch and the misplaced kiss, Cas would have assumed that Dean just has something on his mind. But as it stands, Cas just can’t shake that Dean’s behavior is somehow in relation to himself. The longer the empty smiles and inane conversation go on, the more exhausting it is for Cas to not visibly withdraw into himself, from what feels like a polite objection to his very presence. He thought they were moving past that.

He must have zoned out into his salad at some point, because Cas visibly startles when he feels Dean’s foot nudge his ankle beneath the table, not expecting to be touched any time soon. When he looks up, Dean is giving him the first genuine expression since they met up: concern. Cas doesn’t have a clue what he must have looked like the last few minutes, but it couldn’t have been good if it was enough to finally bring Dean into the moment. Crap.

“What’s wrong?” Dean murmurs, just loud enough for Cas to hear him, from where they’re seated next to each other.

“Did I do something? Because I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I did,” Cas blurts quietly.

Dean’s face pulls in confusion. “You think I’m mad at you or something?”

“I don’t know what to think, except that you’ve been a million miles away and haven’t seemed comfortable being around me,” Cas admits on a whisper. “You didn’t want to touch me,” he adds even more quietly, nearly wincing at how far his tone fell from the blunt declaration of fact it was meant to be.

He pokes absently at his food, unable to meet Dean’s eye; it’s just too mortifying, because there’s no way the man didn’t hear that note of hurt. After a beat, Dean sighs heavily through his nose and scoots his chair closer so he can wrap his arm around Cas’ shoulder, but Cas' immediate reaction to the touch is to tense.

“Don’t,” Cas begins lowly through gritted teeth. “Don’t do that if you’re just trying to pacify me,” Cas warns. “If you want to play the Newlywed Game for the crowd that’s fine, but…”

Cas lets the sentence trail off, not sure where he was really going with it, anyway. Nowhere that wouldn’t lead to more mortification, that’s for damn sure.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Cas. My head’s just in a weird space today. I didn’t realize…” Dean trails off with a sigh. As if the movement could speak for him, he runs his hand up and down the outside of Cas’ arm a couple times before stopping at his shoulder again, and stroking it with his thumb.

Cas feels his face grow hot with a new wave of mortification, both at the unsaid _I didn’t realize you needed to be touched_ hanging in the air, and the fact that it’s fucking true. Normally, that simple, yet genuine contact would have had his shoulders relaxing already, if he weren’t so embarrassed at having let that bit of vulnerability slip. That’s something he generally just doesn’t do, even in committed relationships, much less with…whatever Dean is. Jesus, it’s gotten complicated.

Thankfully, Dean doesn’t acknowledge the embarrassment rolling off Cas in waves, and instead changes the subject, pulling his arm back to himself.

“So um, about that weird headspace,” Dean begins hesitantly.

Cas finally brings his eyes up to let Dean know he has Cas’ attention, waiting patiently for Dean to go on. The man begins to scratch at his thigh for a moment, then clenches his jaw and makes a conscious decision to grab Cas’ hand under the table, instead.

“I think,” Dean pauses, jaw clenching for a moment. “I think I need to go to counseling for my…thing…and was wondering if you’d help me find where to go.”

When Cas doesn’t reply for several seconds, too stunned to do more than stare wide-eyed, Dean rubs the back of his neck.

Cas seems to shake himself internally, coming back to reality with a couple of slow blinks.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that. But of course I’ll help you,” Cas says, demeanor shifting- thankfully- from that hurt, vulnerable look, to something resembling relief. “Can I ask what happened, though?”

_Well, first I realized that I’ve been nursing a crush on you, then I freaked out for a hundred different reasons because I saw the office-wide memo you sent out with your name listed as Castiel Winchester (Novak) in the auto-signature. Then I went into one of those fucking thought-tornadoes and almost asked Chuck if he’d let me in on some of his stash in the middle of the workday, so I could calm my brain down. Then I freaked out again because I’m apparently becoming an alcoholic, and wanted a drink to deal with the fact that I shouldn’t have a drink. There was also a whole lot of being pissed at myself for not being able to get my thoughts in order, and because I’m so exquisitely fucked up, I managed to accidentally hurt you, even though I didn’t know I could. Not like that. Which is a whole other pile of ‘what the fuck’ that I can’t even begin to sort through, and…_

Dean shakes his head, swallowing harshly as he feels his palms going clammy again for at least the third time today.

“I can’t…” he pauses, clearing his throat when he hears how wobbly his voice sounds, even in his own ears. “I just want to be something like normal again. Like I used to be. Tired of not being able to get out of my own head sometimes, and just tired of my own shit. Can’t risk freezing up again,” he finishes quietly, despite how hard his breaths are coming now.

Cas’ eyes go all round and concerned and soft, and Dean absolutely cannot look at them for longer than a glance, or he might cry.

“Well, those are pretty good reasons,” Cas says, squeezing at Dean’s hand. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

Dean takes a deep, calming breath, and then another. There was no ‘About time!’, or prying for details that Dean isn’t capable of sharing right now, or immediately trying to dive right into a plan of action. All Dean had needed at the moment was a simple affirmation that he’ll have some support, and that’s exactly what Cas has given him.

“Thanks, Cas,” he murmurs, finally dragging his eyes back up. He puts what he can into his eyes, hoping Cas gets it; that it’s gratitude for so much more than just agreeing to help. It’s thanks for- even if accidentally- Cas baring just enough of his own self, that Dean could feel safe asking for what he needs.

Cas’ eyes flick to the table and he swallows, and Dean knows that he got the message. When Cas looks back up though, there’s the barest of a tentative smile on his lips, and that small gleam in his eyes of yet another secret shared between them.

Dean lets out a mental sigh of relief. They’re almost on equal footing right now, and for the first time since all of the shit hit the fan, Dean feels something relax on a different level. There’s a better sort of trust growing between them now, that Dean hadn’t even realized he needed; it’s a mutual trust, being built on _proof_ , and not just theory.

Dean’s chest tightens a little bit, but it’s probably just indigestion from the cafeteria food.


	18. Act Two

Dean will not quit sneaking worried glances, and it is driving Cas nuts. They’d walked through and out of the office as if everything were normal, but the moment they’d gotten in the car, Dean’s happy-go-lucky air abruptly dissipated. They’ve barely made it past the first block, and though Cas hasn’t been counting, he’s fairly certain that the most recent glance makes somewhere around number five.

“What, Dean?” Cas asks tiredly.

Ridiculously, Dean looks somewhat startled at having been called out. Does the man seriously think that Cas hasn’t been learning to read him?

“What do you mean, _what_?”

Well, that answers that.

“You keep looking over at me like you’re worried, or want to say something; I don’t know. So just say it already.”

Dean presses his lips together, considering. He begins absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the wheel as they pull up to a stoplight, before sparing Cas a nervous glance.

“Are we cool? ‘Cause I mean…I’ve seen you react to a lot of things, but I don’t know how you handle the kind of…stuff…from earlier, and you aren’t really giving me anything to go on,” Dean says, adding a shrug that’s belated enough that it’s actually kind of endearing, in its awkwardness.

“I don’t regret my offer to help you, or think less of you for asking, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Cas replies. “If anything, I’m kind of shocked that you’d talk to me about it.”

Dean sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Well, that was part of it, but…I was talking more about _you,_ ” Dean says pointedly. “Are you okay?”

Residual discomfiture from his little display at lunch laps at Cas’ ankles, but it’s not enough to carry him away in the tide, this time.

“I made an ass of myself and I was embarrassed, but I’ll live,” Cas admits.

Dean looks at him like he doesn’t quite believe him, but nods anyway. They ride for a couple of minutes in _even more_ awkward silence, and Cas nearly rolls his eyes at the way he can practically hear Dean still thinking about it. And goddamned if Dean doesn’t glance a-fucking-gain!

 _Worrywart_.

“Like I said a couple days ago, I don’t have any intention to hold anything over your head that you’d consider private, or that could make you vulnerable in some way. Are you willing to extend the same respect to me?” Cas asks.

“Well yeah,” Dean says, as if it’s obvious.

“Alright,” Cas nods slowly. “So. Once more, just to clarify. Are we, or are we not in agreement that we’re going to try not to be dicks to each other for- _god forbid_ \- being human, sometimes?”

Dean huffs a quiet little laugh, and Cas watches the way the man’s shoulders lower a bit as Dean nods to himself.

“We are in agreement, good sir,” Dean says with a funny little lilt to his voice.

“Most excellent,” Cas nods, mimicking Dean’s tones. “Now, shall we to our residence with no further disquietude?”

“We shall, for I am in need of repose after a most arduous day,” Dean replies seriously, though Cas can see the sign of suppressed smile at the corner of his mouth. “I believe I would also find a measure of relief in removing these breeches from my person.”

Cas can’t keep up the act anymore at that, and barks a laugh, Dean joining a moment later with a more subdued chuckle. When Dean’s hand comes to rest a little too casually on the seat between them, Cas has to suppress a smile at how close it is to the cliché move of stretching an arm behind someone in the seat next to them. The cautiousness of it is absurd, coming from someone so typically direct as Dean, and Cas doesn’t bother resisting the offer to take the man’s hand.

The oddly shy smile it earns him has Cas coughing into his free hand, to disguise the combined laugh and sound of surprise, because frankly, he wasn’t aware that Dean could even look shy. And certainly not toward Cas, of all people.

Goddammit. Dean Winchester is not supposed to be cute. There are many words Cas has used to describe Dean, but cute has never been in that list until now. What else is he supposed to call it though, when this unspeakably attractive and incredibly dangerous man just let on that he’d been unsure whether Cas would want to hold his hand, for fuck’s sake? Especially taking the previous night into consideration.

Dean looks over curiously at Cas’ admittedly strange sounding cough, and Cas just shakes his head and coughs again for good measure. “I’m okay,” he says, clearing his throat.

Seeming to internally shrug, Dean looks back to the road, and they make the next few minutes’ drive to Dean’s apartment in a relatively easy silence. The next hour is taken up by an irritating amount of business, between breaking Dean’s lease and gathering more of his things, getting a key made for him to Cas’ house, and stopping by the post office to change his address.

As much as Cas doesn’t feel like making so many stops and having to reorganize his dresser and closet to accommodate Dean’s things, he wants even less to do the song and dance for the call to Dean’s parents. So yes, he enjoys the excuse to procrastinate, and extends it even further, by doing tasks that could easily be put off until later, while Dean settles his things into the spaces Cas has made. He knows he’s reaching when he takes the time to water his houseplants, but there’s really no believable excuse when he sits down on the side of his bed and starts pairing socks from the laundry basket at his feet. Especially when Dean is already changed into pajama pants and a t-shirt, and completely done unpacking what they brought in. Ridiculously, Cas pretends to be absorbed in his task of sock-pairing, so as to avoid the knowing look being leveled on him.

“Come on, man, I know what you’re doing,” Dean says, voice faintly amused, as if calling out a child for pretending to sleep.

“Congratulations. You’re all grown up now, and familiar with the banality of doing laundry,” Cas deadpans, then grunts a surprised sound when the sock he’d just grabbed is pulled right out of his hand.

Dean sits down beside him on the bed and sighs, running a tired hand down his face, but doesn’t say anything more before flopping backward to lie down, feet dangling just above the floor. A few seconds later he tugs on the side of Cas’ shirt.

“Let’s take a break and just enjoy some quiet for a minute,” Dean suggests.

Cas follows Dean’s lead and lies down next to him, taking a deep breath once he’s settled. After so much motion the last several days, it’s almost grating to put the brakes on and just be still. He makes it less than a minute before his antsiness is too much, and turns his head from where he’s been staring at the ceiling, to look at Dean.

“I don’t know how to stop.”

“I didn’t say stop. We’re just pulling off into a rest area for a while,” Dean replies, voice calm.

Cas sighs heavily, and looks back to the ceiling, focusing on a spot where he didn’t quite sand down the mud enough over a nail in the sheetrock. The bedroom had been the least damaged room in the house when he bought it, but it had still needed some repairs to the ceiling, where there had been a leak in the roof at some point. And now that he’s looking at it, Cas isn’t sure if he’s very pleased with the light fixture he installed a couple of months ago.

“Why are you scowling?” Dean asks quietly.

“The overhead light. I think I might hate it, and I’m the one that picked it out and put it in. Should have put in a ceiling fan instead; it would be pleasant, and help cut down on energy use,” Cas muses aloud. “And there’s a fucking lump right there, where I didn’t get the mud sanded down enough over that nail,” he adds, pointing to the offending imperfection.

Dean snorts a laugh, and Cas turns his head to look at him.

“Is working on the house your happy place?” Dean asks.

Cas takes a moment to consider that and frowns. “I don’t know if I have a happy place. But I guess working on my home is probably close to it. Might be more like Happy Place-adjacent, in Security Blanket Square.”

Dean hums, looking back to the ceiling. “I get that. Kinda how I am with my movies and books and all that. Well, and working on Baby, too.”

“You do your own work on your car?”

Dean cracks a grin at that. “Dude, I rebuilt my first engine when I was fifteen.”

Cas remembers Dean telling him at some point that his father owns a garage, but for some reason, it never occurred to him that Dean would have been that involved in it. His eyes automatically flick over Dean, and Cas concludes quickly that he wouldn’t mind watching the man do that sort of work sometime. He hasn’t had occasion to see Dean really put his strength to use yet, but Cas can only imagine that it’s probably downright sinful to witness, when Dean gets to flexing and lifting and pulling and sweating.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean chuckles.

“Hm?”

“You were totally just mentally perving on me.”

“Is that a problem?” Cas smirks lazily.

“No, I guess it isn’t,” Dean grins, as he sits back up. “But it also isn’t very productive toward getting shit done right now.”

Cas grunts at the sudden burst of the pleasant thoughts-bubble he was floating on, and sits up too. They really can’t put it off any longer, and Cas knows it as well as Dean does.

Once they make it to the living room, Dean turns to say something, but cuts himself off with a laugh as he reaches up to fuss with Cas’ hair.

“How in the hell do you manage to look like you’ve been fucking for five hours, from like ten minutes of laying around?” Dean mutters to himself.

“I don’t think I’ve ever fucked for five hours. That sounds…uncomfortable. And exhausting,” Cas replies.

“Not literally,” Dean rolls his eyes, before licking his fingers, and much to Cas’ chagrin, pressing them against an apparently stubborn strand of hair. “I think that’s as good as it’s gonna get.”

“I’m sorry _my_ hair causes you so much strife,” Cas says, pulling away to make his way around the couch to sit down.

“Oh, it’s no skin off my nose. I’m just trying not to scar my mom,” Dean replies, plopping down beside Cas and pulling his laptop over. “Okay, so this is basically the same as with Sam and Jess…just be yourself. Hate to say it, but I really don’t know how my folks will react, so we just gotta play it by ear.”

“Story of my life,” Cas sighs, not even kidding a little bit.

Dean gives him a brief, but sympathetic smile. Squaring his shoulders, Dean sits up straighter and clears his throat.

“You ready?” he asks.

“No, not really,” Cas swallows, feeling his pulse starting to pick up. This would be so much easier if it were just a phone call, and not a freakin’ video chat, where he can’t hide his face or body language. It was bad enough meeting Sam, but these are Dean’s _parents_ , and it’s beyond nerve-wracking knowing that if they disapprove of him, it could have very real consequences for their relationship with Dean. At this point, there really isn’t anything to be done for it, though. “But I’d rather get it over with.”

Dean nods his agreement, but lets out a determined breath, nonetheless.

“Alright. Tell me you love me,” Dean says, miming a face mask.

Now that Dean has dubbed their little act as Husbands Faces, Cas isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to not mentally name it as such, when getting ready to enter a social situation with Dean. It’s ridiculous, and Cas has to stifle down a laugh at the stupid name, in order to sober himself enough to comply with the ‘pre-game ritual’. Clearing his throat, Cas takes a deep breath, but when he gets ready to say his ‘I love you’, a damned giggle comes out instead, that isn’t helped at all by Dean’s flat look.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Cas says, putting up a hand as he closes his eyes and tries to regain his composure. It probably would’ve been fine, if Dean hadn’t done the goddamned hand motion for the ‘mask’.

After a minute of thinking about serious things, like the French Revolution and every piece of trivia about it he can remember from his school days, Cas has his breathing back to normal. Good. Ready to go. When he opens his eyes, Dean looks about as amused as he did a minute ago, and all of Cas’ mental work was for nothing, when a loud snort of laughter makes its way out before he can stop it. The snort morphs quickly, into one of the most ridiculous cases of the giggles Cas has had in _years_ , when he geeked out in the middle of an IHOP once, while trying to order the Rooty Tooty Fresh ‘n Fruity after having hit a gravity bong a few too many times.

“Oh good god,” Dean says, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Nervous laughter? Seriously, Cas?”

This is exactly what Cas had been afraid would happen at the wedding, but at least he isn’t doing it in front of anyone but Dean, right now.

“I know,” he groans, in between laughs, wiping his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he says on a sniffle, trying his damnedest to take deep breaths and calm down.

After a few seconds of bending at the waist to rest his elbows on his knees so he can focus on re-centering himself back to reality, Dean’s hand lands on his back and starts sweeping up and down Cas’ spine.

“There you go,” Dean murmurs, as Cas starts to get control of himself again. “It’ll be fine, Cas.”

Cas sighs, not really believing it, but pointedly not dwelling on it, lest he work himself up again. Sitting up, Cas takes a long look at Dean and by silent agreement, both men nod that it’s time to get their practice swing in. Shifting to face Dean, Cas reaches out and places a hand on the back of Dean’s neck, stroking his thumb behind Dean’s ear. He’s about to say it, he really is, but when he opens his mouth to say his ‘I love you’, Cas can _feel_ another wave of weird laughter trying to build in his stomach. Dean must see it coming this time, because he huffs and pulls Cas in for a kiss to cut it off before it can begin.

It isn’t a soft kiss, but it isn’t passionate or sexual, either. It’s firm, and calm, like an order issued, and expected to be obeyed without a single voice raised. The confidence in the authority of it makes an odd shiver go down Cas’ spine, even if the silent command is quite literally, _shut the fuck up and don’t you dare start up again._

The tactic is unexpectedly effective, though Cas can’t begin to understand why; he isn’t aroused, nor does he feel like he’s being shown affection, or being given an attempt at distraction. It’s something more akin to a reassuring pep talk. Either way, he finds himself kissing back an affirmative, feeling much more grounded than he did even with the back rubbing, only a minute ago.

“Thank you,” Cas murmurs, when they pull apart.

Dean only gives him a little smile, tilting his head up to plant one more quick kiss on Cas’ forehead, before leaning back.

“Let’s do this,” Dean says firmly, as he opens the laptop.

Cas squishes in tight to Dean’s side so they can both get in the frame, and once they have the angle right for the camera, Dean sends the chat request to his mother. Within seconds, the screen is filled with the smiling face of a beautiful woman that Cas could never doubt to be Dean’s mother. The resemblance is uncanny, and he can’t help but stare.

“Hey, Mom,” Dean greets her, grin wide.

“Hi, sweetie,” she grins back, and holy shit, it’s almost eerie, looking between them smiling like that. Her eyes flick to the side, and Cas can only assume she’s looking at where she sees him on her own screen, so he offers her a friendly smile. “And who’s this?”

Right down to it, then.

“This is,” Dean pauses to clear his throat, “this is Cas. Uh, Castiel. My husband,” he beams.

Mary’s eyes nearly bug out of her head as her jaw drops open.

“I’m sorry, I could’ve sworn I just heard you say that you’re married,” she says, looking as boggled as Cas had expected.

Dean huffs a laugh and holds up his left hand, wiggling his ring finger. “You’re not hallucinating.”

“Holy shit!” Mary whisper-shouts. “What…when did…” she flounders.

“Did we break you?” Dean teases.

A frown immediately pulls at her brows as she snaps her mouth shut, collecting herself. “Dean Michael Winchester, don’t you dare. The last time we spoke, you weren’t seeing anyone, and now you’re suddenly married to a man that- no offense, Castiel- I’ve never even heard of. So _someone_ had better start explaining.”

“Ooooo you got the full name call-out,” Cas teases unthinkingly.

“Cas!” Dean snaps.

“Oh I’d call your full name too, if I knew it,” Mary says with the same irked-mother tone she used on her own son.

“My name is James Castiel Winchester,” Cas smiles, with no sarcasm to be found. He knows it’s probably pathetic, but Cas can’t find it in himself to feel cowed by the scolding, when it feels so strangely nice to be on the receiving end of motherly attention, even if it is annoyed. Dean seems to get it though, because he gives Cas a soft look, and pecks him on the temple.

The sound of Mary’s sigh pulls both men’s attention back to the screen, and she looks calmer than she did a moment ago.

“You took his name?” she asks, tone much gentler.

“I did,” Cas nods. “Your son is a wonderful man, and I’m honored that he would allow me to have it.”

“Sorry if this sounds presumptuous…but you two don’t look at each other like you’re new acquaintances. So how long have you known each other?” Mary asks.

Dean snorts a laugh to himself, before looking back up at the screen. “Twelve years. Met him _right after_ I signed on.”

Mary narrows her eyes for a few seconds, before realization dawns and those eyes open right back up.

“The coffee guy?!”

“Are you kidding me?” Cas asks, turning to Dean. “Did you gripe to your entire family about me?”

Mary’s laughter rings out. “Oh, Dean, you finally got him, didn’t you?”

“What?” Dean asks, voice comically high.

“Do you not remember how flustered you got back then, when I asked you if he was cute after you’d finished all those lamentations on what happened?” Mary asks with a wide grin.

“No!”

Undeterred, a mischievous look crosses Mary’s face. “Well how about a few weeks back, when you were whining about working with him, and I asked you if he was still hot?”

“Mom, oh my god!” Dean groans, covering his face.

“What? It’s not like he doesn’t know you want him,” Mary retorts, still smiling. “Hang on a sec, boys. I want the details, but not until my husband is in here, too,” she says, then shouts over her shoulder for Dean’s father to join her.

Dean tenses, which automatically makes Cas tense, because there’s no way to read that as anything other than concern that this might go badly.

Less than ten seconds later, the sound of a deep voice floats over the speakers, asking what’s going on, and then Mary is directing her husband to sit down with her.

Cas nearly wants to roll his eyes when Dean’s father comes into view, because at this point it’s ridiculous, how attractive the Winchester family is. Dean doesn’t look like his father, but John Winchester is handsome in his own right, and especially for a man his age. Apparently, there isn’t an average-looking person in the bunch of them.

“Castiel,” Mary says, glancing to the screen, “this is my husband, John. John…this is Castiel. Dean’s husband.”

John’s eyebrows shoot upward as he leans forward, presumably to get a better look at the computer screen.

“Since when?!” John asks, stunned, looking between his wife and the screen.

Dean sits up ramrod straight, and clears his throat. “We eloped on Friday.”

“Where did you go?” Mary asks.

“It was a spa-resort thing, a little ways north,” Dean replies, looking faintly sheepish.

“That sounds romantic,” Mary smiles softly, then adds, “I’m guessing that was Castiel’s doing?”

“You think I can’t be romantic?” Dean asks, sounding genuinely offended.

Mary seems to realize how that sounded and looks like she’s ready to apologize, but John unwittingly cuts her off with a huff and an eyeroll as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Son, can you really tell me you wouldn’t have been content to just go down to the courthouse and then check into a Howard Johnson?”

“Did my _dad_ seriously just imply that he’s got more game than me?” Dean asks, to the group at large. “And I would _not_ do that shotgun wedding crap, because I’m a freakin’ gentleman, for your information.”

Cas can’t help but grin a little bit to himself, because it’s actually true.

Ignoring Dean’s rant, John gives an unimpressed look and pushes right along. “Either way, a spa ain’t your style, so it does make me wonder how you managed to get whipped enough to end up in what must’ve been Wine Country.”

Dean tenses even more, but does well hiding the visibility of it.

“Me and Cas have known each other a long time, Dad. We just didn’t realize what was between us until recently. You know…kinda had one of those Come to Jesus moments,” Dean says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Cas is uh…he’s the guy I work with.”

John leans back in his seat, processing the information, face neutral and so similar to the way he’s seen Dean react to new information, that Cas wonders if it’s a family trait, or a result of military service.

“The boy whose computer you destroyed like a jackass, right?” John asks bluntly.

Dean grimaces, but nods. “Yeah, this is him.”

“I thought you hated each other,” John quirks an eyebrow, eyes darting between them.

Cas shakes his head. “I’ve never hated Dean, sir,” he says, to yet another Winchester.

John grunts a disbelieving sound, but Mary chimes in with the next question.

“I know it’s none of our business, but I am curious how you two ended up ‘coming to Jesus’, if you don’t mind to share.”

Dean sighs, but takes the reins, telling about the head butting over the project, the rumor mill kicking up after the pie incident, and the following attempted sabotage of the project. Cas notices that Mary’s lips quirk in a similar smile to the one Jess had given them, as Dean talks about the flirting practice. When it comes to the point in the narrative where they supposedly had angry sex and resolved their conflict, Dean pauses, looking to Cas. Dammit, he was hoping to get out of handling that part, this time around.

“I think this is the part where you put it delicately, and simply say that one thing led to another,” Mary supplies with a smirk.

Cas lets out a nervous laugh and immediately covers his face, because this is absolutely _not_ the time to break out into that again. He nods into his hands, hoping like hell that Dean will pick up the slack again. When there’s nothing but silence though, Cas internally curses, and uncovers his face.

“Yes ma’am, that’s very apt,” Cas says with an apologetic grin.

John looks supremely uncomfortable, leaning back in his seat and looking off to the side. In the face of John’s rather rude behavior up to this point, Cas feels a zing of satisfaction at seeing the reaction to the turning point in his and Dean’s big gay love story. It’s just enough to tone the vibrations of Cas’ nerves down to a low buzz, and he forges on.

“Neither of us realized we’d both been acting on more than just tension these past couple months, until some things were said, um…unintentionally,” Cas says pointedly, earning another smirk from Mary.

“I still don’t see how you resolved years’ worth of crap in a matter of weeks, even if you were…angry-canoodling,” John says, trying for gruff, but mostly sounding awkward.

Cas has to look down and press his lips together, to hide his amusement at John’s choice of phrase.

“Angry sex, Dad, you can say it. We’re all adults,” Dean huffs, surprising everyone with how fed-up he sounds with all of the careful wording.

“Jesus, Dean!” John splutters. “There are some things that parents just don’t want to think about, you little shit. Or would you like to hear about the round of make-up sex responsible for your brother?”

“John!” Mary barks indignantly.

“He walked in on it!” John says, pointing at the screen, though he’s looking at his wife.

“Oh my god, no!” Dean says, horrified, clapping a hand over his eyes.

Cas barks a laugh; he can’t help it. “You walked in on them?”

“Dude, I don’t even _remember_ it,” Dean says defensively.

“Didn’t remember to knock, either,” John grumbles, and okay, Cas cackles a little bit at that.

“Cas! You’re supposed to be on my side, you dick,” Dean huffs.

“Enough!” Mary snaps abruptly.

All three men shut up in an instant, wearing varying levels of contrite expressions. Mary makes sure to look at each and every one of them, before nodding to herself, satisfied.

“So. Tell me about the wedding, since I wasn’t there to see it with my own eyes,” Mary says, mildly reproachful.

Cas is fine with taking up this part of the conversation, and wistfully recounts the details the same way he had with Jess, ignoring the somewhat bored and brooding look that John has going on. Mary is relieved to hear that they did get pictures, and Cas promises to send her copies once he and Dean have them.

Thankfully, Dean refrains from jumping in with the anecdotes on Cas’ less seemly behaviors at their wedding.

As expected, both of Dean’s parents have the standard questions for Cas that he answers easily, and John looks mildly impressed when he finds out that Cas has worked for everything he has. Mary warms substantially when it’s revealed that Cas doesn’t have parents, and she declares with a wink, “Well, you have us now, Mr. Winchester.”

“I thought it was just women that did that name-taking thing,” John blurts, followed by a pained grunt and an indignant look toward his wife, who must have stomped his foot.

“Generally, that is the upheld tradition, but that’s also a tradition of the patriarchal values held in our particular society. I don’t feel any less masculine, for being associated directly with my husband,” Cas shrugs, because it’s true. “And you don’t think your wife to be any less strong because she took _your_ name, I assume?”

John frowns at being challenged, but his voice is sincere when he says, “Of course, not.” He shares a look with his wife that makes her smile a little bit, and pat John’s back affectionately.

By the end of the conversation some minutes later, Mary has secured Cas’ contact information and set up a ‘phone date’ so she can get to know him better. Congratulations are given at last, and John gives Cas and Dean both a look, accompanied by a gruff, “You treat each other right, and never go to bed mad, you hear?”

With a final ‘welcome to the family’ from Mary, the call is ended, and Dean immediately flops back into the couch with a whoosh of breath.

“That wasn’t as bad as I expected,” Cas declares on a sigh.

“You have _no_ idea how well-behaved my dad was being,” Dean says, voice edged with wonderment. “But shit, that wore me out, and I didn’t even do most of the talking. And I didn’t mean to hang you out like that, by the way. You’re just better at some of that stuff, and I didn’t want to slow your roll,” he says, the last couple of words coming out through a yawn.

“It’s okay,” Cas says, rising from the couch. “I deal with worse on a weekly basis, just at work. Which reminds me…be on the lookout for Zachariah Adler. He and I had a disagreement this morning in the elevator, and I have no doubt that if he sees you, he’ll make it a point to try and piss you off, to get to me. _Please_ don’t give him the satisfaction, Dean,” Cas says seriously.

Dean lifts an eyebrow as he gets to his feet, as well. “That’s pretty vague with the wording, dude. Come on; tell it like it is. What happened?” he prods.

Cas sighs, figuring he may as well, as he makes his way to the kitchen to retrieve his stack of take-out menus, Dean following right behind him.

“Adler enjoys finding ways to try to provoke me because he’s hated me from day one. He’d heard about the wedding, and made some vulgar comments about you under the guise of camaraderie, and I let him know that I didn’t appreciate it, and that he should watch his words. He brought up the first amendment like a jackass, so I alluded to the fact that there was a camera on us, and that his employment status could become precarious if he carried on like that. Since HR doesn’t tolerate harassment and all,” Cas finishes with a smirk, remembering the way Adler blanched when he noticed the camera.

Shaking himself out of the memory, Cas circles back to drive his point home. “But anyway, like I said, he’ll probably want to take a shot at you now, so be warned, and don’t let your temper get out of hand with him; he lives for that sort of manipulation and would love to be handed an easy way to get to me. And I suppose you, now, by extension.”

Dean has been picking at the corner of the paper on one of the menus as he’s been listening, face contemplative. Cas knows that there’s much more going on in Dean’s head than he’s letting on, but only has vague ideas of what Dean is considering.

“Alright, then, I’ll keep an eye open,” Dean finally says, rapping the stack of menus on the countertop.

Cas gives him a grateful look for taking his warning seriously, but he can’t help wondering what Dean’s thinking about. He knows it wouldn’t get him anything but a grumpy Dean if he were to prod though, so Cas lets it go.

 

***

 

Dinner is a quiet affair, both men lost in their own thoughts as they make their way through cartons of Chinese food at the kitchen table. It’s an oddly jarring experience for Dean, as he more fully comprehends that this really is what his life is going to be like for the next while. This unfamiliar house is going to become familiar to him at some point, and he’s going to fall into a routine with someone for the first time in years, and he’s going to fall asleep next to the same body every night.

The information itself isn’t new, but the realization of how intimate the situation is, had escaped him until now. Dean didn’t think about these things very much when he moved in with Lisa because they were already together, so it had been a natural progression to fall into that domesticity with her. That’s not the case now though, and Dean can’t help but feel like an intruder, setting up camp here. This isn’t just another random location they’re sharing space in; this is the sanctuary that Cas created for himself, and by virtue, it should be private. If they’d been relegated to leasing a fresh apartment together, it would maybe feel more like a roommate kind of deal, but that’s simply not possible under current circumstances. Dean is an uninvited guest that is only here out of necessity due to the fallout of coercion, simple as that. 

The fact that Dean has every intention of contributing to the utilities and groceries does practically nothing to dampen the sense of _wrong_ at being here with more than a suitcase.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asks, startling Dean from his thoughts.

There’s no way to answer that honestly while there’s still the concern of being overheard, and Dean frowns, trying to think of a reply that won’t rouse even more questions that he can’t answer. Normally, he’d be probably able to come up with something a little faster, but as it is, Dean’s brain is past fried for doing anything that takes more energy than musing or vegging out to some television.

“Just thinking about life,” Dean says, knowing how lame an answer it is.

Cas tilts his head with a dry look.

Dean sighs, picking up the fork he doesn’t remember setting down, absently looking between their plates and realizing that his plate is still fairly full, while Cas’ is at least half gone. That’s a pretty obvious sign of a troubled Dean, considering how he usually tends to eat.

“Guess I’m just settling into the reality of it all. Living with someone again, you know? It’s been four years since I’ve sat down to dinner at home with someone and known that I’d be doing it again the next day, and the day after that, rinse-repeat. Grocery store trips, and sharing the TV remote, and taking a shit with someone else in the house,” Dean snorts. He’s hedging from the real issue, but these are honest thoughts, too. “Just kind of weird after living alone for so long.”

There’s a hint of incredulity in Cas’ eyes at the completeness of Dean’s answer, but there’s plenty of understanding there, too.

“Well, I’ve been living alone for two years, so I’ll be relearning, too,” Cas half-shrugs. “So far I think we’ve done fine, though. You’ve already gained major points, for not being chipper in the mornings,” he winks.

For some reason, the sentiment and- of all things- the wink, settles Dean a bit; Cas isn’t prone to bullshitting for nicety’s sake, in Dean’s experience. Maybe Dean is just overthinking this, because he’s been weird about his own privacy since coming home; spending years in close quarters with a crowd of soldiers taught Dean the value of solitude. And there could also be a slim chance that Cas is on the opposite end of the spectrum, and doesn’t care for living alone so much.

“So…will I _gain_ or _lose_ points, for being frisky in the mornings?” Dean waggles his eyebrows, rolling with the lighter turn in conversation.

Cas gives Dean a flat look. “I’m not even dignifying that with a response.”

“You know, some would argue that by saying that, you just did,” Dean points out.

“And others would argue that by your response, you’re an asshat,” Cas returns.

Dean blows a raspberry, giving a thumbs down. “Lame comeback, buddy. And asshat is _my_ thing.”

“What can I say? You seem to be rubbing off on me,” Cas smiles smugly.

Dean opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, inwardly groaning when he comes up empty. Goddammit, he’s never been good at zingers. Cas’ smile spreads into a wide grin, and the asshole just chuckles like it’s the best thing in the world to get one on Dean.

“I’m not dignifying that with a response,” Dean sniffs primly, lifting his chin a little bit in a mockery of condescension.

Cas just laughs even more, and nudges Dean’s ankle with his toes. “Well if you’re done talking, then how about you use your mouth to eat your damned noodles, so you aren’t complaining about being hungry in a couple of hours.”

“You’re being all…extra Cas,” Dean shakes his head. “What the hell, dude?”

“Would you like a little _extra Cas_?”

Dean blinks. “Jesus, that’s terrible.”

“No, I’m Castiel,” Cas says guilelessly.

Dean groans. Loudly.

“That’s more like it,” Cas purrs.

“Cas, I swear to god,” Dean says, pressing his lips together to hold back a laugh.

“Then it must be serious,” Cas nods solemnly.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Dean sighs. Cas is like a freakin’ dad joke factory when he wants to be, and apparently, that’s exactly what he feels like being right now.

That should not be so appealing to Dean.

“Yeah, it’s a serious case of stop your shit,” Dean says, though it’s completely undermined by the fondness that leaks through his tone.

“Fine, I’ll concede. But only because the inevitable reply to that would make both of us cringe,” Cas says, toeing at Dean’s ankle again.

Cas’ eyes seem bluer than Dean has ever seen them, sparkling with the humor that his laugh lines only hinted at before. It occurs to Dean then, that despite the rough patch in the middle, he’s witnessed Cas smile with more genuine humor today, than every other smile put together that Dean can remember seeing on the man’s face. Just a few short weeks ago, Dean never would have guessed that Cas makes dorky jokes, and likes being cuddled, and freakin’ _giggles,_ and tries to be helpful, and can make the most pitiful looking kitten face Dean has ever seen. And now Dean knows all of these things, and is learning more everyday, and damned if it’s not just icing on the cake that it’s all wrapped up in a sexy ass package. He has no idea how Cas has managed to stay single for so long, and Dean can admit that if things were different- if they weren't both just trying to survive- he'd be trying to lock it down.

Shit-Tastic Universe Dean and Cas suck. 

 _Crushes_ fucking suck _._

 

 


	19. Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a couple of things in Cas' past that might be triggering for some (I'm not sure) so to be safe, check the end notes first.

Cas doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that Dean didn’t find anything when he did his real surveillance sweep in the hours between the two of them getting home from work. Sure, it’s nice knowing that they aren’t being watched in every room, but he can’t help but feel like there’s something too easy about being left alone this way, as if someone is trying to lure them into a false sense of security. Even more unsettling, is knowing that he’s dancing that fine line between justified paranoia and tinhatting. Dean seems to be on the same page though, if his brooding over his plate of spaghetti is anything to go by.

Once they’ve cleaned up the kitchen, Dean catches Cas by the elbow when he starts toward the living room. “I need to show you something,” he says, tilting his head toward the hallway.

Cas follows Dean to the bedroom, curious when the man goes straight to the little stereo on the dresser that Cas practically never uses, and turns on the radio, immediately turning the dial to a local classic rock station, then turns the volume up. Cas gets as far as opening his mouth to ask what Dean’s doing, when Dean opens the closet door and beckons Cas to follow him inside; albeit on the small side, it’s technically a walk-in. When Dean grabs his briefcase and a duffle bag he’d stashed in there and sets them on the floor, Cas realizes that the music was a precaution so that they could speak a little above a whisper. Once they’re both crouched on the floor, Dean unzips the duffle.

“If something happens while I’m not here and you need to make a break for it, try to grab this on your way out, if you can. The briefcase, too,” Dean murmurs, reaching into the bag.

Cas is pleased when Dean pulls out several items that are meant for temporary off the grid survival and protection. Cas grew up having an emergency bag around, and feels better for having one around right now. Once Dean explains a few of the more specific items (holy hell, the man has the keys to a freakin’ safe house cabin!), he moves on to the briefcase.

“Watch,” he says, crowding in next to Cas so that he can watch Dean work the combination open. He repeats it a couple times, then has Cas try it. It takes a couple of tries, but Cas gets it, and Dean gives him a pleased smile when the latches pop open.

“Go ahead and open it,” Dean nods toward the case.

“This doesn’t contain a soul, does it?” Cas asks with a wry grin.

Dean’s eyebrows go up a bit as a grin slides onto his lips. “Didn’t peg you for Pulp Fiction. But no, Honey Bunny, there’s no soul in there.”

Cas’ face screws up in indignation. “I am _not_ Honey Bunny.”

“I dunno, Cas, you are kind of impulsive sometimes,” Dean teases.

“Oh? And what…you think you’re Jules or something?” Cas asks, hands resting absently on the briefcase.

“Hell yeah, I’m Jules!”

With a mighty eyeroll, Cas scoffs. “Please. Have you _ever_ met anyone cool enough to be Jules?”

It doesn’t matter that privately, Cas could imagine Dean going into badass mode like that; Cas’ pride is bruised at being accused of being so squirrely.

Dean’s lips press together and his eyebrows pinch before he lets out a breath and looks away. “Dammit,” he mutters. “Okay, fine. But I’m at least Vincent.”

With a chuckle, Cas bumps their shoulders together. “Whatever you say, Pumpkin.”

This time it’s Dean’s turn to look offended, but Cas ignores him, a satisfied smile curling his lips as he opens the briefcase. When he lays eyes on the two guns resting inside, Cas’ attention is immediately drawn to the fact that one of them is downright pretty, and it takes practically nothing for Cas’ mind to conjure the image of Dean using it.

“This one’s yours, isn’t it?” Cas asks, running a light fingertip over the engravings on the slide. “Your favorite, I mean.”

“Yeah, the Colt was the one I learned to shoot with, and Dad gave it to me later as a graduation present,” Dean smiles, looking a little bit sentimental, before he comes back to the moment. “But if some kind of shit goes down and we _have_ to use these, I want you to use it; it’s a little easier to handle for someone without as much experience. Less kickback than the Desert Eagle,” he says, tapping the grip of the more imposing looking gun.

“What about the one you alluded to in the glove box?”

“Glock 17. Also a little easier for you to use. It’s one of those that a lot of people have in their nightstand or car.”

Unbidden, an image of the two of them in an action movie chase in the Impala with cliché bad guys on their tail pops into Cas’ head, and he can’t help but snort a little at the idea of actually reaching into the glove box and hanging out a window to shoot while Dean drives.

Dean gives him a curious look, and Cas shakes his head. “Nothing. Just my imagination being ridiculous.”

“Come on, tell it,” Dean smiles, nudging Cas in the ribs with an elbow.

Cas tells him what he imagined, then gives a huff of dry laughter. “I’d give us two miles before it all went to hell.”

Dean eyes him for a moment, a wry grin on his own lips.

“Then I guess we’re going to the shooting range on Saturday. Gotta be able to get at least _four_ miles out of it,” he smirks. “Really though, regardless of what happens, I’d feel better if you knew how to protect yourself, or at least what all _not_ to do.”

“Do you have a thigh holster?” Cas blurts.

“Yeah? Why?”

“Just curious,” Cas shrugs, proud of conjuring up some nonchalance.

“Yeah, but why?” Dean repeats, more demanding now in his own curiosity.

The longer Cas stays silent as he scrambles for an answer, the more Dean stares, scrutinizing in a way that makes Cas’ pulse jump nervously. Unfortunately, Cas sees the moment Dean figures it out, by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile sliding into place.

“Well what do we have here?” Dean says knowingly, voice dipping into a purr. “Got yourself a kink, Cas?”

It’s impossible to backtrack now, he’s been too obvious, so Cas chooses instead to put on a bored look. Predictably, Dean is not convinced, and gives Cas a lascivious smirk.

“Hmmm…good to know,” Dean winks, giving a deep chuckle that sounds positively dirty.

“Oops. You got me,” Cas says flatly; too late to deny it now. “I am so screwed, now that you know something that turns me on. I’m horrified at the thought of you knowing that I enjoy having sex with you, and I don’t know what I’d do if you found out that I’ve imagined you bending me over my desk,” he adds with a sarcastic smirk, letting his own voice dip.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up as his lips part.

“You’ve really imagined that?” Dean asks, voice huskier in a natural way, now.

“Mmhmm,” Cas nods slowly, biting his lower lip with that coy look that he knows Dean is weak  for. “But we’d have to be quiet. You might even have to put a hand over my mouth to keep us from getting caught, because there’s no telling how loud I could get. It’s been a while since I’ve been pounded by a cock that size,” he says, nodding down at Dean’s crotch.

Dean’s nostrils are flaring, and his eyes are noticeably darker now, as he’s no doubt picturing it.

Cas gives him a sweet little smile, relishing the way Dean seems to waffle between being annoyed and turned on. After a few seconds though, Dean seems to settle on a somewhat tired look.

“Alright, you made you made your point. You know how to get me going in two seconds, and I have to be close to naked to get you going,” he says, looking down to close up the briefcase.

Cas watches the way Dean’s jaw ticks as he moves, and suddenly feels much less victorious about this boner kryptonite thing, as he realizes that it’s never been about a competition between them; it’s been Dean’s personal goal with himself. Shit. How did he not catch that until it was spelled out? It’s not like Cas didn’t know that Dean is a bit insecure.

“Dean.”

Dean hums a questioning sound, but doesn’t look up from where he’s repacking the duffle bag. Cas runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Do you honestly think that we are not equally attracted to each other?” Cas asks sincerely.

With a humorless laugh, Dean zips up the bag and gathers both it and the briefcase up as he rises to put them back on the shelf where he’d stashed them.

“I don’t know, Cas. You aren’t exactly an open book about _anything_ , unless dicks are out or damn near, which is when most people about to fuck start talking, anyway. So hell if I know,” he says, turning to exit the closet.

Cas catches him by the elbow, tugging insistently enough to make Dean stop. “This isn’t just about sex,” he says carefully.

Dean’s cheeks are pinking, and he looks downright embarrassed with himself. “Don’t worry about it, Cas,” Dean mumbles, making to move again.

“Dean, will you stop moving around and talk to me?” Cas says, gripping tighter to Dean’s arm. “You wouldn’t have brought it up if it didn’t matter.”

When Dean stills with a sigh, and Cas drops his hand and leans back a couple of inches, to rest against the wall next to the light switch. Dean mirrors his position on the opposite wall, though he crosses his arms over his chest and just stares at Cas; his expression is neutral, but not shuttered, so at least there’s that. Cas supposes it’s on him to start the conversation, then.

“I’ll be honest, I’m sort of confused right now, because with the way we’ve gotten better at reading each other most of the time, I thought we were close to being on the same page,” Cas says with a soft sigh. “It’s been a long time since anyone has tried to get to know me outside of sucking up because of my job, or whatever. I know that’s not what’s happening here, but I hope it explains a little, as to why I’m kind of um…slow on the uptake with things involving _me_ sometimes. So can you just be direct with me? Please?”

The neutral expression softened a bit as Cas spoke, but now Dean just looks conflicted and somewhat uncomfortable.

“I’m just being stupid, so let’s go watch some TV and forget about it, alright?”

“Yes, because ignoring things and neither confirming nor correcting each other’s assumptions has always worked so well for us,” Cas says dryly.

Dean frowns, clearly displeased at Cas’ logic.

“Not being dicks, remember?” Cas adds, quirking an eyebrow.

Rubbing his hand over his face, Dean sighs before dropping his hand and giving Cas a look that dares him to break that promise, before he speaks.

“I’ve made an ass of myself in front of you like eighty times, and you know all kinds of shit about me, but I know practically nothing about _you_ , except for your personality. And I’m still trying to figure some of that shit out! And then you did the thing a minute ago, and I guess it just hit me different today. Kinda feels unbalanced here,” Dean says, eyes pinned to a spot somewhere near the light switch.

“…No one’s ever _wanted_ to know much about me,” Cas admits quietly. “Not _me_ me, I mean.”

A deep frown pulls at Dean’s face as his head tilts a bit. “Then what the hell were your boyfriends doing?”

Cas can’t stop his grimace in time, and Dean immediately mutters a, “Shit, sorry. None of my business.”

Cas shakes his head, dismissing the apology. Everything Dean said is true; hell, the man has basically trusted Cas with his mental health issues! It’s only fair.

“My first boyfriend was okay, but it was mostly just sex between us. My second was an older man- I was 19, and he was 30. I didn’t grasp that he viewed me as his ‘pet twink’ until his wife that I _didn’t fucking know about_ contacted me three weeks later. I don’t really consider him a boyfriend, but he happened nonetheless.”

Clearing his throat, Cas considers whether he should tell about the next one, but Dean’s face is open and kind- waiting, so he may as well put it all out there. Sliding down the wall to sit, Cas watches the way Dean goes from open to concerned at the change, and joins Cas on the floor.

“The third was closeted, and when we were alone, he was wonderful, so I was patient about us having to stay a secret. We were roommates, and just acted like friends when other people were around. His friends would crack homophobic jokes and he’d laugh right along, throwing in his own one-liners; he’d already asked me not to even tell them that I was gay. I tried to shrug it off, but he’d give these critiques after we’d hung out with those guys or gone in public, about how I needed to come off as less gay so we could keep up appearances. I fucking hated it, but like an idiot, I played along to keep the peace.”

Cas pauses, taking a breath. Why in the hell did he think it was a good idea to share this? He hasn’t even let himself actively think about it in years, and now he’s spilling his guts? Cas focuses on Dean’s shins, where he’s got his knees pulled up, and his forearms clasped loosely around them; it may be cowardly, but Cas just can’t look Dean in the eye right now.

“I should’ve seen it coming, I know that now. But I didn’t back then, and it all went to hell when a friend of his walked in on us kissing at our apartment. My boyf-,” he cuts himself off, not even wanting to apply that title to this fucker, either. Clearing his throat, Cas starts again.

“He panicked and shoved me away and started yelling at me about how he wasn’t a fag and how disgusting I was. I froze, and I guess he snapped when I didn’t leave fast enough, and he um…he and his friend beat me, and then hauled me out and dumped me in the backseat of my car. They left my keys and phone in the front seat for me, but I was too scared and humiliated to go back in for the rest of my things with there being two of them, so I just left and didn’t go back.”

Cas only realizes after the fact, that he’s basically just given Dean every reason to believe that he lied at the cabin, about being able to defend himself. Cas wasn’t lying when he’d said that, but he braces for Dean’s anger, anyway. Silent seconds tick by, and Cas feels an honest to god sweat breaking out on his neck. When he raises his eyes to explain that he hadn’t been helpless back then either and really had just frozen, Cas can’t help but flinch backward at how dark Dean’s eyes are. Sure, Cas had expected Dean to be angry, but the man’s face is positively stormy, and Cas instinctively pushes back tighter into the wall.

“What’s that fucker’s name?” Dean asks, voice low and terrifying.

Breath caught in his lungs at the unexpected question, Cas can only blink.

“How old were you, and what’s his name?” Dean presses.

“I was 21, and I’m not telling. I heard a few years back that he eventually came out and is married to a firefighter, now, so just leave it be. I didn’t tell you this to rile you; you asked for me to share, and you _of all people_ know that everyone has baggage.”

“But you were a fucking kid, Cas!” Dean snaps.

“What? And you weren’t, when you were off fighting in a goddamned _war_?” Cas challenges.

That seems to shut Dean right up, though he’s clearly biting back another argument as they stare each other down.

“Will you at least tell me what Gabriel was doing when that shit happened?” Dean asks.

Having Dean’s protectiveness aimed at him in such an intense manner is admittedly, a bit disorienting; Cas knew that Dean was willing to protect him within the present, but this sense of anger at past transgressions is unexpected.

“He didn’t know until about a week later, because I avoided him. I couch surfed and slept in my car a few nights, trying to wait until the bruising went away before going to him, because I knew he wouldn’t believe me if I told him I got jumped by a stranger. Gabe would’ve killed him, Dean,” Cas murmurs. “He went apeshit as it was, when he tracked me down outside of one of my classes and saw my face. I had to backhand him to make him come back to reality, when he started threatening- in all seriousness- to stage a car accident. The only reason he didn’t do it was because I threatened him with disappearing, and he knew I could and would do it.”

“Good. I mean, on Gabriel,” Dean says stiffly, relaxing back into the wall a bit.

A small smile works its way onto Cas’ face as he thinks about his brother. “I wasn’t kidding the other night, when I said he was both parent and brother to me. I owe him more than I could ever repay in any way, for everything he’s done for me.”

“I don’t think he’d want you to, dude,” Dean says gently, demeanor softening. “If that were me and Sammy, I wouldn’t want him to feel indebted; I’d just want him to be safe and happy.”

“I know, and he’s pretty much told me that. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m aware that he never really had a childhood, and then raised a child before he was done being one, himself. Even when we were homeless a few times, he tried to shield me from it. Being little, it took me a while to catch on that we weren’t just ‘urban camping’ or having an adventure to see if we could ‘live in the wild’ when we were out in the woods a few times,” Cas admits.

“But yeah, needless to say,” he continues, wanting to be done with this, “the relationship thing hasn’t worked out so well for me, either. I had a few more boyfriends after that; two of them were really good to me, but just didn’t work out because of our career aspirations, or losing interest. And well…you saw what happened with the last, with your own eyes,” he shrugs.

Dean grimaces, but Cas just gives him a small shake of his head. He still isn’t asking for an apology.

Gabe’s the only one that’s known about all this stuff, but now that they’ve been talking for a while, Cas feels more at ease telling Dean. And to his own surprise, Cas realizes then, that he might actually be starting to feel better, sharing these things about himself. An idea strikes him, which has him standing up to retrieve a familiar old box on one of the shelves; he hasn’t looked at it in years, but for whatever reason, he wants to right now. When he sits back down on the floor with the box, he feels suddenly a bit bashful, but clears his throat anyway and crosses his legs in front of him, setting the box on the floor between them. Dean barks a laugh at the ridiculous decoration of the box, but Cas expected that.

“Super Secret Evidence?” Dean chuckles, reading the words that have been scrawled in bright purple glitter glue on the lid.

The wooden box is a little bigger than a shoebox for a pair of men’s boots, and is painted a gaudy, bright sky blue, with hearts and stars bedazzled on top.

“Gabriel,” Cas shrugs, figuring it’s explanation enough. Dean merely nods, still eyeing the lid with a little smile.

Cas considers the nature of what he’s about to say, and closes the closet door, earning an amused eyebrow quirk from Dean.

“Yes, I know how dumb this all looks, but just humor me on my caution, alright? I don’t know the law, and whether what I’m going to tell you could hurt us somehow in court if it were found out,” Cas explains. “The whole long-distance listening thing has me spooked, alright?”

Dean looks curious more so than concerned. “Alright, go on, then,” he smiles, clearly amused by Cas’ behavior.

“When I was 16, we were able to stay in Chicago for a couple years. This boy- Balthazar- wouldn’t let up on trying to get me to talk to him. I was…well, if you think I can be awkward now, you really don’t want to imagine how bad it was back then. Since we never stayed in one place for very long, I always just kept to myself and didn’t really bother making friends whenever I started a new school, since there wasn’t any point. Made it easier to pick up and leave overnight, without anyone missing me and therefore questioning it.”

“But you weren’t shy...?”

“No, not really. I just didn’t know what to do when someone actually tried to talk to me, and didn’t want to be tricked Carrie-style, so I just avoided it,” Cas shrugs. “But Balthazar wasn’t used to being ignored, and for some reason, made a project of it, getting the new kid to talk. It worked eventually, and after a while he became the closest thing I ever had to a best friend.”

“So what? You two formed a little Ya-Ya Sisterhood?” Dean smirks, tilting his head toward the box.

“No, this is just my thing,” Cas replies, pressing an index finger over a loose rhinestone on the lid. “But I’m getting there. So anyway, Balthazar was dead-set on teaching me how to charm my way through things, instead of just playing innocent like I’d always done before; part of my ‘looking normal’ education. We’d go out and I’d practice, just little stuff; weaseling free dessert out of waitresses, convincing cashiers to give us their employee discount, and one time, I charmed my way out of owing the library fifty bucks for a book I lost.”

“Oooo, such a badass,” Dean teases.

“Shut up, I’m not done,” Cas rolls his eyes. When Dean mimics zipping his lips with an amused glint in his eyes, Cas continues.

“Balthazar was always really well-dressed for a lower middle-class kid, so I asked him about it one day, and before I could blink, he was handing me my own watch and said _that’s how._ I asked him to show me how to do it, and it became a sort of game between us, to see who could rip the other off the most times in a day. We always gave each other our stuff back, of course. But then he dared me to do it for real one day, to this asshole that basically shoved me out of the way, so he could break the line in front of us at a convenience store. I was pissed, so I did it just for spite and made off with a $1200 watch.”

“Cas!” Dean barks, his face doing an odd dance between scandalized, amused, and impressed.

“If you’re going to get all faint about that, then we’d probably better stop there,” Cas smirks.

“I’m not _all faint_ , asshat,” Dean swats at Cas’ knee. “You know good and damned well I’m within my rights to be surprised right now.”

“Maybe, but…I thought you would’ve expected there to be some unsavory things in my personal resume, considering who raised me.”

Dean nods and sighs. “Yeah, I guess I should have. But go on, you got me all curious, now.”

“Okay,” Cas nods. “So to be honest…it felt good getting one up on that asshole, taking a symbol of the wealth he thought made him more important than everyone else. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a problem with wealth. I just have a problem with a person using their money as an excuse to demean other people, like they don’t deserve dignity. But anyway, I pawned the watch; Gabe wouldn’t let me work because he wanted me to focus on school, so I figured I could sock the money away in case we hit a rough patch. The security of it felt so good though, so I kept doing it. Balthazar taught me how to identify the more expensive suits and watches, and we’d hit up different blocks at different times around the after-office rush, targeting the _obscenely_ wealthy businessmen. Only those that could afford to lose $500 from their wallet, like it was pocket change.”

Dean’s eyebrows have been steadily rising up his forehead, and Cas snorts a laugh.

“Christ, Cas! How much did you end up socking away?”

Scratching his jaw, Cas digs through his memory banks. “I think it was somewhere around ten grand, by the end of the school year. Probably a little less, because I did spend some from time to time on little stuff; food, school supplies, CDs. Teenager crap.”

“What’d you do with it?”

“Gabriel found it,” Cas says with a heavy exhalation. “He was pissed that I had taken all the risk, but he wasn’t stupid. And I think he was a little impressed, to be honest. We couldn’t put it in a bank, of course, so we talked about it, and I agreed to let him use it to get the Casa Erotica site going.”

Dean lets out a cackle of laughter. “Do you have any idea how many old church ladies would be fainting right now if they knew that one of the biggest names in the pornography industry- which is bad enough- was originally funded by a gay 16 year old klepto? This is like, the stuff of eternal damnation,” he chuckles.

“To be fair, I hadn’t realized I was gay yet, at that point,” Cas smiles wryly. “So there’s one less point on the going to Hell scale.”

Dean rubs a hand over his face, still smiling when he drops his hand. “You are totally Honey Bunny.”

“I am not! I never participated in armed robbery or hurt anyone, thank you very much. None of them even knew I was there.”

“Whatever,” Dean rolls his eyes. “Still a thief,” he says lightly.

“And you’re a former officer of the law that isn’t reacting with a single grain of disapproval at finding out that you’re tied to a criminal,” Cas retorts incredulously.

Dean’s lips push out in the shape of a semi-thoughtful pout as he lifts his chin to look at the ceiling and scratches his throat. “I know I should, but it’s…it’s kinda hot,” he admits, dipping his head back down to catch Cas’ eye abruptly. “Not criminals in general,” he rushes to clarify.

Cas raises an eyebrow, letting a lazy grin settle on his face at the news that Dean thinks Cas’ shadiness is hot.

“Shut up,” Dean rolls his eyes. “So what’s this thing about?” Dean asks, tapping the lid of the ‘evidence’ box.

Cas’ eyes linger knowingly on Dean’s for a few more seconds, until Dean gives an unimpressed look at Cas’ silent bout of cockiness. With a chuckle, Cas reaches forward and lifts the lid on the box. When Dean peers into the box, his eyebrows automatically knit in confusion at the collection of items that to anyone but Cas, would look like random junk.

“I got bored with the pickpocketing, and didn’t need the money anymore, so I moved on. Balthazar showed me how to break in pretty much anywhere, as long as the security system wasn’t too complex. It started with breaking in to an empty house that had been on the market for forever; it was supposedly haunted, and he said I didn’t have the balls to spend the night there, so I proved him wrong. The place was creepy as fuck, by the way. So we did stupid stuff like that for a while: broke into public indoor pools at night, construction sites. Hit up a frat house once, and drank their beer and took some snacks,” Cas chuckles, remembering.

“After a while though, I started doing it by myself; Zar had gotten a girlfriend and was too busy. It was the rush of it, just to see if I could do it and get away with it, you know? I didn’t want to steal anything valuable, or anything like that. It was just for me, and my own satisfaction. I still don’t know how I managed to never get caught, even with a couple of close calls,” Cas shrugs.

A small smile curls the corners of Dean’s lips as he reaches in and pulls out a fork, holding it up.

“Souvenirs?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me,” Dean prompts, tapping the palm of his hand with the backside of the fork’s tines.

“That came from a five-star restaurant. They had a reputation for having fantastic cheesecake, so I went in one night and tried a slice at my leisure.”

Dean chuckles. “Of course you’d do that,” he says, more to himself than Cas.

Next, Dean pulls out an engraved letter opener.

“The principle’s office,” Cas replies, earning another smile.

But then Dean barks a laugh, and Cas knows exactly what he just found.

“A cock ring, Cas? Really?”

Cas just shrugged. “You’d be surprised how difficult it is to find something in a porn store besides lube, that’ll fit in a jeans pocket. And I took some lube too, by the way, but that got used,” he winks.

Dean presses his lips together in a half-assed attempt at hiding a smile, but moves on, pulling out a smooth river stone.

“An interior decorator’s house. His couch was supremely comfortable, and I enjoyed a glass of scotch on it that was probably worth more in that one cup, than a week’s worth of groceries. That stone came from a very tastefully done arrangement on the coffee table.”

There is also a tiny dog collar from a pet store (he may or may not have played with the kittens while he was there), an unused tube of paint from an art studio, a bar of soap from a motel room he helped himself to one night, and a neon pink golf ball from a mini golf course.

Then Dean comes to the last item: a votive candle. He gives Cas a look that’s somewhere between incredulous and unimpressed.

“This didn’t come from a store, did it?” Dean asks, though there isn’t much of a question in his tone.

Cas presses his lips together.

“Seriously? You broke into a freakin’ _church_?”

“I know,” Cas groans, covering his face. “It looks awful, I know it does, but that one wasn’t for kicks.”

When he looks up, Dean is rolling the candle between his palms, with a thoughtful look on his face.

“What was it, then?”

Cas thinks for a minute, trying to piece his words together.

“I was feeling a conflict of morality about what I’d been doing, and I guess I was thinking of it as a test; that if I could feel guilty while sitting alone in a church without the pressure of a worshipful environment, then maybe I was still a good person. Maybe feel some sense of…I don’t know, holy, awesome presence? Something bigger than me. But when I sat down in one of the pews, I felt nothing. I walked through the halls, and sat in the choir box, but still nothing. Just another building. The only place that I felt anything, was in the nursery.”

Cas exhales through his nose, feeling the residual disappointment from all those years ago.

“It probably sounds strange, but I could smell the baby powder and just…that general smell of a room that’s had babies in it, and it soothed me. The little blankets were so soft when I touched them, and there were those cardboard-page children’s books, and a cabinet full of diapers and wipes and baby food and tiny spoons. It felt like life in there; _potential_ for good. The most innocent of all of humanity spent time there, being cherished and protected by people that weren’t even related to them. After a while though, it…it hurt to be in there, and I had to leave. It was disappointing, not being able to feel anything divine at all, and realizing that I felt more reverence for those I’d want to protect, than for an idea of something that should protect all of us. It wasn’t a good experience; it felt like abandonment, even though I’d never really had any reason to believe in God before, anyway. After I got over my existential angst,” Cas says with a wry smile, “I realized that the reason I couldn’t feel anything was because it made no sense to me, to have faith in an _idea_ , when there was something as concrete as _people_ right in front me.”

Dean looked at him for a long moment, a variety of emotions flickering over his face.

“I meant it when I said I regret being so nasty with you,” Cas says quietly, feeling like he needs to reiterate the point, after giving that little speech. “That day in the coffee shop-“

Holding up a hand, Dean shakes his head. “We did the apology thing, so-“

“No,” Cas cuts in, “I want to. Please.”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line, but doesn’t interrupt again.

“That day…it was a bad time in my life. It had only been about three months since the um. _The apartment incident_. I was feeling very cynical, and a little oversensitive to critical statements toward myself. And when you complained about the price like it was my fault, it just hit a nerve. Then with the laptop…I’d only had it since Christmas, to replace the one I abandoned at the apartment. It was just a bad combination of events, and I flipped my shit way more than I normally would have,” Cas explains. “So when I saw you later at that restaurant, my brain associated you- unfairly- with my own personal shit. By the time you vomited on me, I’d mostly gotten over that. But then when I saw you with Zar, it just came rushing back, even though I knew it wasn’t your fault.”

“Woah, wait, hold up,” Dean says, gesturing a time-out sign. “That was fucking _Balthazar_?”.

Shit. That wasn’t supposed to come out.

“That was him,” Cas nods. “We hadn’t seen each other in years, and just happened to cross paths, when he came out here for a fresh start after losing a substantial sum of money in a bad investment. By then, I’d figured out my sexuality, he was familiar, and it seemed like a good enough reason at the time. I already knew his inclinations, but had hoped that he’d get over that for me. It was foolish of me, to blatantly ignore the facts.”

Dean looks absolutely crestfallen at the news.

“Goddammit,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Why in the _fuck_ do you want to have anything to do with me, outside of this thing?” he flaps a hand above his head, glancing upward. “That was your best friend, and I fucking ruin-“

“Dean Winchester,” Cas practically growls, watching Dean actually flinch backward. “Did you not hear what I said?”

Dean looks like he wants to argue, and Cas is fed up with it. Why could Dean not just grasp why Cas has shared all of this with him? He doesn’t want pity, or for Dean to be upset. This was supposed to be an information dump, so Dean could understand him. For Dean to learn some of the events that have shaped Cas into the mess that he is sometimes, so that they can get over at least some of this constant miscommunication bullshit. He just wants some goddamned acknowledgement of who he is; he needs his experiences to be real. James Castiel Novak never existed, Castiel Krushnic only existed for three years, and Castiel Winchester is a fucking fraud, worse than Novak, because Cas entered into this identity knowingly. Cas has exactly two people who know the truth of who he is at his core, and the realization that he doesn’t even have access to one of them right now is devastating. Dean is literally all that Cas has right now, and Dean isn’t getting it as to what Cas is trying to do, and it’s-

“Hey…heyheyhey…Cas,” Dean murmurs, worry etched on his features as he shoves the evidence box aside and scrambles across the space to kneel in front of him, reaching out to cup his face.

It isn’t until Dean’s thumbs brush over Cas’ cheekbones and he feels the glide of wetness, that Cas realizes that he started crying in his frustration. When he chances a sniff, more tears roll out, and it’s so much worse than the moment he had in the cafeteria; there is absolutely no playing this off or forgetting about it. Cas can’t decide what’s worse: the fact that he has nowhere to hide, or the fact that he’s relieved that Dean cares enough to even be worried. Both options are equally wounding. He shouldn’t have let himself get that far.

“Baby, what happened? What’s going on in there?” Dean asks, tapping an index finger against Cas’ temple. “Talk to me.”

Oh Christ, Dean just called him Baby, and there aren’t enough curse words in the English language for how frustrated Cas is with himself, that the endearment and questions are making even more hot tears roll out. It’s like he’s turned into a human faucet, and his chest is so tight it hurts, with the effort at keeping himself from sobbing; Cas can feel his dam cracking, and it’s not fair that his body is betraying him this way. It’s been so _incredibly_ long since he’s come this close to losing control of himself, and then Dean does the worst thing of all.

He grabs Cas up in a hug and pulls him into his lap.

The moment he’s resting against Dean’s solid weight, Cas feels himself completely crumple at the show of concern. There’s no stopping it now, and Cas has no choice with himself but to take what’s being offered, and he curls in on himself to bury his face against Dean’s chest in humiliation, forehead resting below Dean’s collarbone.

“I can’t…it’s so…” Cas chokes out, voice nearly unrecognizable in his own ears as his breaths hiccup through it. “Just want to- I’m so sorry I’m- I’m doing this…”

Dean shushes him, stroking a hand along Cas’ back beneath his t-shirt as he sways side to side a little bit. “No, don’t be sorry,” he murmurs, but Cas barely hears it.

He feels lost, heartbroken, angry, ashamed, and every other emotion at once that he’s tried so damned hard not to let himself feel for so long. It’s horrible- and frightening- how small he feels with this loss of control. It’s too foreign, and brings up even more tears at the realization of how inept he must be at being a _person_ if something as natural as crying in grief for _himself_ can throw him off so badly. Any other kind of tears he can handle letting out, but selfish tears feel like a battle lost, and he knows it’s fucked up.

“Don’t want your guilt,” Cas sobs, “or your fuggin’ pity…just- just wanna be fuggin’ _known_ ,” he says, voice ragged, and fists clenching so tight in Dean’s shirt that his wrists ache.

Dean brings a hand up to card through the hair at the back of Cas’ head and swallows with a click, loud next to Cas’ ear.

“Cas, you’re not alone, please don’t think that,” Dean says, voice thick and just so _sad._

Dean heard him. He heard what Cas was really trying to say, and it’s a relief that Cas is nearly shocked by. He gasps a deep breath and though it’s shaky on the exhale, it’s the first sign of getting himself together that he’s had in minutes. He takes another breath, and then another, each coming out a little less hiccupped. After a couple of minutes, he wills his hands to release Dean’s shirt, and reaches up to wipe at his own face, aggressively scrubbing at the wetness on his cheeks and sniffling as he tries to put himself back together enough to sit up again. And bless him, Dean just waits it out, rubbing over Cas’ back and pressing a couple of little kisses to the top of his head.

Now that the tears have stopped, it’s becoming increasingly apparent that Cas’ contacts are attempting to glue themselves to his eyes, and they need to come out sooner rather than later. He tells Dean as much, but is still hesitant to move because he knows he must be a damned sight, all puffy and red and just so beyond drained now.

“Come on,” Dean says, patting at Cas’ butt. “I know I make a good cushion, but we can’t have you damaging those pretty blues just because you’re all comfy,” he says lightly.

With a sigh, Cas nods against Dean’s chest and finally pulls himself up, though he refuses to look at Dean as he gets to his feet. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to meet Dean’s eye for the rest of the night, but what’s done is done, and Cas can only hope that Dean neither walks on eggshells around him, nor withdraws. Cas reaches for the doorknob, but pauses when Dean clears his throat, clearly getting ready to say something.

“I think you should meet me on the couch when you get done poking at your eyeballs. Seems to me like we could do with some Star Trek therapy.”

Cas’ mouth quirks in a small smile, but he still doesn’t turn around.

“What Star Trek?”

“ _Into Darkness_?”

Cas’ body is begging for the bed, but unwinding his brain with something entertaining and removed from himself would probably be a good idea before trying to go to sleep.

“Deal.”

“Oh, and Cas?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve gotta show me the pickpocket thing sometime,” Dean says, a childlike excitement in his voice that makes Cas snort a quiet laugh.

“If I do it right, there won’t be anything to see.”

“You know I meant, asshat.”

Cas sighs. “Yes, Dean. I’ll rob you sometime and present it like a magic trick.”

“Awesome.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The homophobia is referenced in a past relationship, as being internalized homophobia by one of Cas' partners, and a slur is mentioned within that context. There is also brief mention of assault by this partner. Brief mentions of infidelity (not on Cas' part), and Cas generally not being in a good place emotionally. If you want to know what happened but aren't sure if you want to read it, shoot me a message and I'll give you the gentler version. None of it is graphic, as the story is being told by Cas, and not presented as a direct memory.


	20. The Portal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Crowley voice* Feelings!

It doesn’t matter that Cas made it clear that he doesn’t want Dean’s guilt, because if nothing else, he’s still feeling guilty as hell about making Cas cry. It also doesn’t matter that Dean knew that Cas was due for a meltdown; it was still Dean’s fault for getting carried away in his own crap and not thinking about Cas’ reasons for sharing so much with him, until the man was already breaking down with how unacknowledged he felt as a human being.

He should’ve known. Holy _Christ_ , he should’ve known. The moment Cas said that no one had ever wanted to know much about him- and that twinge Dean felt at hearing it- should have been the first clue. And if not that, the way Cas was so animated while telling Dean secrets that he likely hadn’t told anyone but Gabriel, should have been a bigass, flashing neon sign saying, ‘I’m glad you want to know the real me’. Wanting acknowledgement and to be understood and gain closeness are the only reasons people volunteer their personal crap like that, outside of necessity- like Dean had, at the cabin. And you sure as hell don’t volunteer information that someone could use to hurt you, unless you trust that the other person will use it with good intentions.

And that right there is a whole other level of _holy shit_ for Dean. Regardless of the trust that they’ve really had no choice but to extend to each other since that day in Crowley’s office, Dean didn’t expect that Cas would offer _that_ much in so short a time. But then again, he also didn’t know until now, that Cas seems to have a predilection for seeing the good in people, to the point that sometimes he overlooks the bad until it hurts him. Not that Dean thinks it was Cas’ fault that he’s been repeatedly treated like shit, of course; that’s no one’s fault but the assholes that acted that way. Still though, Dean can’t help but come to the conclusion that Cas has a history of being somewhat naïve about personal matters, or at the least, has more self-esteem issues than Dean previously thought.

Dean sighs as he stares up at the vague shape of the light fixture in the dim of Cas’ room. He hasn’t bothered looking at the clock, but he knows he’s been lying here overthinking everything for long enough that he’s getting a dull ache behind his eyes from staring at the same spot in the dark. With that, Dean rolls to his side to face Cas and just looks. When they’d watched the movie, Cas had remained firmly on the other end of the couch, and when it was time for bed, Cas laid far enough on the other side, that it was clear he had no intention of seeking physical comfort. Dean wasn’t surprised by the distance, either time. Cas has shifted a couple of times since they laid down, and now he’s on his side facing Dean, brow pinched, even in sleep.

Without a thought, Dean reaches over and pushes Cas’ bangs off his forehead, and traces a light thumb over his brows in an idle attempt at smoothing out the frown gathered there. The touch makes the frown deepen, and Dean pulls his hand back to himself as he remembers that Cas is a light sleeper. Yeah, that would be kind of hard to explain, and especially after the slip-up with calling Cas ‘Baby’ earlier; by the way the man’s face practically crumpled after Dean said it, Dean knows Cas noticed it, and that’s a conversational danger zone that Dean would rather avoid as long as possible. A few seconds after Dean has pulled his hand back, Cas grunts an annoyed sound and pushes out a sleep-clumsy hand toward Dean. Dean goes absolutely still, unsure whether he’s being sought or unconsciously pushed away, but when Cas’ hand finds his arm, the question is answered quickly enough by the way it wraps lazily around his wrist.

“Cm back,” Cas slurs, fingers twitching around Dean’s wrist as if trying to grip, but too weak with sleep to do any more than that.

Dean hesitates, because an order given while sleep talking doesn’t mean shit about what someone actually wants. But then Cas hums another annoyed sound, which is immediately followed by what is distinctly Dean’s name and some more insistent finger twitching.

“Okay, Cas, I’m comin’,” Dean murmurs, unconcerned for how fond he sounds; not like Cas will remember, anyway.

Dean scoots in closer and has to bite his lip to suppress a laugh when Cas squirms in the rest of the way and ends up tickling Dean’s stomach while attempting to slide his arm over Dean’s waist. When they’re done settling, Dean chances one last (possibly creepy) bit of affection, and tilts his chin up to press a kiss to Cas’ forehead, earning a long sigh before Cas goes limp again. Things might be weird tomorrow, but there’s nothing to be done for it until then, so Dean pointedly narrows his focus down to his senses and lets the feeling of Cas’ sleep-warmed body and steady breaths lull him to sleep.

 

***

 

Cas does a valiant job of pretending that everything is normal for the crowds at work and elsewhere in public, smiling beatifically and sneaking kisses, and touching Dean at all the right times. When there’s no one to perform for though, he doesn’t reach for Dean’s hand or offer any sass, or really say much at all, for that matter. He doesn’t ignore Dean necessarily, but he doesn’t go out of his way to initiate any unnecessary interaction, either.

Dean lets it slide the first day. He expected some withdrawal; Cas did open himself up to a world of vulnerability, after all, and it’s not unheard of for someone to want some space after that sort of thing.

The second day though, it’s obvious enough that Charlie asks Dean what’s wrong, when Cas leaves the Nerd Cave; he’d barely acknowledged Dean’s presence and didn’t offer more than a polite smile to Dean before walking out to make his way to his own office. Dean assures Charlie that they hadn’t fought or anything, and that Cas is just in a funk of his own. When no word comes later of Cas wanting to do lunch together, Dean isn’t surprised. He does grab a couple of to-go boxes with the good pie from the café while he’s on his own lunch though, and drops it off with Meg, earning a look of approval when she discovers that one of them is for her. Not that Dean likes her, but it never hurts to get in good with someone that Dean assumes Cas likes, while doing what he can to let Cas know that he’s thinking of him.

They don’t see or talk to each other until after work, when Cas shuffles into the house, looking exhausted and drawn as he flops down into his chair to wordlessly eat the pizza that Dean had informed him of ordering, through a text. Frankly, the man is zoned the hell out into whatever he’s thinking about, and Dean has no idea what he’s supposed to do. He tries nudging Cas’ ankle under the table, but all it earns him is a brief look of confusion, before the man goes back to staring at his plate. It’s disconcerting seeing the normally focused man look so blank, and Dean is nowhere near equipped enough, to know how to approach him about coming back to earth. With an internal sigh, Dean takes his plate to the dishwasher when he’s done eating, knowing that what he’s about to do is probably going to be uncomfortable, but it’s the only thing he can think of off-hand. He pauses on his way out of the kitchen to drop a kiss to the top of Cas’ head and squeeze his shoulder, but doesn’t stay around to gage the reaction on his face.

Stepping out the French doors to the backyard, Dean pulls out his regular phone, and scrolls through his contacts until he finds the number he’s looking for. Settling himself into one of the patio chairs that’s facing toward the door so he can see if Cas starts to come out, Dean listens to the line ring three times, before it picks up.

_“Hey, Dean. What’s up?”_

“Hey, Sammy. I uh…I need some…advice.”

 _“Okay,”_ Sam draws out the word. _“What kind of advice?”_

Dean closes his eyes and rubs his forehead, regretting that he didn’t try to ease himself in with some catching up, first. “…Couple advice.”

 _“Oh,”_ Sam says, sounding surprised. _“I don’t know how much help I’ll be since I don’t know how you two really operate, but I’ll try. What’s going on?”_

“We didn’t argue or anything like that…no one’s mad. He just told me some really personal stuff a couple days ago that I don’t think he’s really told anyone but his brother, and ever since then he’s been really quiet. It was worse today, and he didn’t say a word over dinner…just zoned out. I’ve been trying to give him some space, but I don’t know if I’m making it better or worse, and don’t have a damned clue what to do.”

Sam hums a thoughtful noise, and Dean hears the microwave beep in the background, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing. Jess must be working tonight, if Sam’s eating from the microwave.

_“How has he been responding when you touch him?”_

“…Not? He hasn’t been pulling away, but he hasn’t been offering anything, either. He’s normally real receptive to touch though, so I don’t know if that makes a difference.”

More humming. A rudely noisy bite of something, because Sam doesn’t care enough to try and practice proper phone etiquette with Dean, who will eat a bag of potato chips and crunch his way through a conversation.

_“Okay…so that says to me that he doesn’t want you to go away and leave him alone, at least. Moving on though, does he normally make you talk about things, or does he do the you, and wait until there’s no choice?”_

Dean pulls a face at the blunt criticism, but he knows he can’t really deny it, either. “Well, that’s what kicked all this off…I brought up that he always wants to talk about what’s up with me, but he’s kind of close-mouthed about himself. So he told me the stuff…like baggage stuff, and it got real emotional for him there, and now he’s doing the withdrawing thing.”

 _“What’d you do when he got upset?”_ Sam asks, sounding vaguely accusatory.

“I scooped him up and held him ‘til he calmed down,” Dean replied, unable to keep the edge of defensiveness from his tone. “And it was night time, so I suggested we watch some Star Trek after that, so he wouldn’t try to sleep with his head all mucked up.”

_“Alright, so here’s what I’m gathering. Cas voluntarily opened up for a minute, which is somewhat unusual for him. Then he got a little overwhelmed, so you stepped in to make him feel supported, and make sure he was stable afterward. Yesterday he was distant, but today he’s flat-out withdrawn, and you’ve been giving him space, but not ignoring him, I’m assuming. That sound about right?”_

Sam was using his musing voice, as if making mental bullet points. Collecting data, but not processing just yet; organizing. And this is why Dean called his brother; Dean can do the same thing with concretes and strategies, but when it comes to piecing together personal events, he tends to get too close and the details get muddled.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the gist of it.”

_“…Well, it’s kind of hard to say. There’s a chance that he could be taking the space wrong, and thinking that you’re uncomfortable with him now. If that’s the case, he might be feeling rejected, considering that you went from being supportive to distancing within 24 hours. But there’s also the possibility that he’s withdrawing as a way to pretend it didn’t happen, so he doesn’t have to feel vulnerable. Some people just can’t let themselves consciously think about things that upset or scare them, you know? So it may or may not be a good idea to talk about it, I don’t know.”_

Dean thinks back to the day of the ceremony, and how Cas had said that he wasn’t going to think about the name change or any of that. But then he also thinks about how Cas had pulled into himself, when he thought Dean didn’t want to be around him at lunch the other day. Dammit, this is not helping.

“Any other theories?”

Sam sighs, chewing for a minute, then taking a sip of something. Silverware tapping against ceramic.

_“Do you know if he has any issues with anxiety or depression or anything? Because that could make a difference, too. Not to be an ass, but you get like that too sometimes, so what usually helps you get out of it? You might could try doing it for him, and see if it helps.”_

Dean presses his lips together, thumbing at the edge of the armrest on his seat.

_“Either way, you know him better than me, so maybe you should just go with your gut. If what you try doesn’t work, just keep trying until either you find something that does, or he tells you off for getting on his nerves. At least then, you’d be getting him to talk. I don’t know if any of that’s really helpful, but it’s all I know to tell you.”_

“No, it helps…gave me some stuff to think about, anyway. So thanks,” Dean says earnestly.

 _“…You really love him, don’t you,”_ Sam says kindly.

Dean has a split second to fluster to himself, before he remembers that Sam doesn’t know the whole story, and is within his rights to say such a thing.

“Well I married him, didn’t I?” he says, a bit more gruffly than he meant to.

 _“Yeah, you did, Dean”_ Sam says with an audible fond eyeroll. _“And by the way, Mom nearly shit a brick when I told her about me and Jess’ wedding. She freakin’ cried, dude. But then she got onto me for not telling her about you and Cas and then springing my own wedding stuff like two seconds later.”_

Dean takes the segue with an internal sigh of relief, and spends the next thirty minutes catching up on the things they didn’t get to at dinner, and humming agreeing noises from time to time when Sam starts getting into details about colors and fabrics and crap, for his and Jess’ wedding. He does pay more attention when Sam gives him the name of the venue, and what he needs to do with his Best Man duties. Due to the last minute nature of the wedding, it’ll be a fairly small, and somewhat low-key affair, which Dean is relieved to hear. Not that he’d mind if Sam and Jess went the whole nine, but simpler is always better in Dean’s mind. Eventually, Dean sees Cas walk past the door, and remembers that he needs to figure something out with that situation, so he wraps up the call with a blunt, “Hey, I got husband stuff, gotta go.” Sam snorts and tells him to go on, and a few seconds later, Dean is pocketing his phone and running a hand over his face.

Doing a quick mental replay of what all Sam said at the beginning of the call, Dean considers the variables as well as he can, not only on Cas’ end, but also with the part that Sam mentioned about what works for Dean. He can’t really come up with anything specific, aside from how Charlie tends to treat him when he’s been in funks before: not expecting him to do more than exist, but making sure he knows she’s there. Sometimes she just chatters away and lets him feel some second-hand cheer, and others, she lets him brood but does little things like text him links to random crap she finds on the internet. Benny’s good like that too, in being content to just sit around and drink a cup of coffee without saying a word, so maybe Sam was onto something there.

Without any real plan, Dean stands up from his seat and stretches, then walks back into the house, ears perked for wherever Cas might be. It only takes a moment to determine that the man is in the garage, when Dean hears the sound of something heavy clank down on the floor. By the time he makes it out there, Cas has already picked up whatever fell, and is digging around in his tools looking for something.

“Whatcha doing?” Dean asks, leaning against the doorjamb.

“Looking for my channel locks. Thinking about replacing the faucet in the kitchen,” Cas mutters distractedly.

“I thought you were all about doing a ceiling fan in the bedroom.”

Cas pauses his digging and straightens up, tilting his head thoughtfully for a moment, before turning to look at Dean. “Actually, I think I _would_ rather do that,” he nods to himself, then shuts the drawer he was searching.

He heads toward the door then, so Dean steps back inside the house. Cas doesn’t waste any time going for his keys, and it occurs to Dean that the man means to go to the store _right now_ and get a fan. Dean catches Cas by the elbow as he tries to scoot past and go back out to the garage.

“You’re wanting to do it tonight?”

“Yes…?”

Dean glances to the clock on the stove, which is reading 8:42.

“Cas, that’s gonna put you not getting done until like midnight. At _least_.”

Cas just looks at him flatly, as if Dean is the weird one, for being concerned about the time element on a weeknight. Clearly, he’s in stubborn mode and wanting to snuggle with his home improvement security blanket, so Dean doesn’t bother trying to talk him out of it.

“Alright, then. Mind if I come along?”

The question earns Dean a conflicted look, and Cas shifting on his feet.

“No, you stay here, it won’t take me long; I know what I’m looking for,” he finally replies.

Dean can read the message of ‘I want to be alone’ loud and clear, so he guesses that maybe Cas really is benefitting from the space and doesn’t push it. Taking a risk though, he does step forward, and presses a kiss to Cas’ temple, as he normally would.

“Be careful, cops are out; end of the month tickets and all that,” Dean says, squeezing Cas’ arm and pretending not to notice the way Cas presses his lips together.

He doesn’t know what else to do besides these little things to let Cas know he’s there, so he steps back when it’s become sufficiently awkward, and goes to the fridge to grab a beer and then park his ass on the couch. The door clicks shut behind him before he’s even done getting the beer, and Dean sighs as he uncaps the bottle.

There’s no point in trying to find something on TV to watch at this time of night on a Thursday, so Dean goes straight for his laptop on the coffee table, and opens up Netflix. He’s in the middle of dealing with the age-old question of whether to start a new show, or watch an old one for the millionth time, when the door in the kitchen opens and shuts. It’s only then that he realizes he never heard the garage door rumble open. A drawer opens and closes, and then there’s the dull thunk of what is likely a wine bottle being set on the counter, so Dean supposes that Cas decided that he’d rather come back in and calm down with a drink, than go being all proactive at the wrong time of night.

Cas will probably take his wine outside since it’s a nice evening, or maybe go curl up in bed with a book, so Dean resumes his Netflix search, narrowing it down to two shows. Yeah, old trusty’s looking mighty fine; no need to go upsetting the status quo with a new show, when it a ‘comfort food for the brain’ time. Now just to figure out which season he feels like watching…

The floorboard between the kitchen and the living room squeaks, alerting Dean to Cas’ otherwise silent presence, and he cranes his neck to look over the back of the couch. Cas looks like a kid that’s been caught sneaking in after curfew, cradling his glass to his chest and hesitating for a moment as he tries to decide what to do. Dean just gives him a little smile and turns back around, knowing that there’s nothing he can really say right now that would make anything better. He gets as far as hovering the cursor over the season he wants to watch, when Cas comes around the couch, and Dean gives up on the pretense of busying himself, closing up the laptop. Cas sits down on the other end, hair mussed from running his hands through it and posture stiff as he takes a contemplative sip of his wine.

“It’s only been a week,” Cas blurts.

Dean pauses, beer halfway to his lips as he contemplates that statement. It’s been a week as of today, since Cas found out that he isn’t who he thought he was and was under threat of deportation, and Dean found out that he was under threat of imprisonment, and that oh yeah, they agreed to get married to save their own asses.

Holy _fuck,_ it’s only been a _week_!

He turns to look at Cas, and understands the man’s glazed look a little better now. A little over a week ago, Dean’s biggest concerns were so comparatively simple, and he and Cas had just barely dipped their feet in the idea of maybe not hating each other as much as they thought they did. Now though, Dean is sitting on Cas’ couch nursing both a beer and a not-so-small crush, and he has to watch every damn word he says aloud like a hawk because they might be under surveillance not just by the government, but by fucking Crowley _and_ a goddamned Russian mafia family. And not to mention exactly how much he and Cas have both changed their tune in such a short time, that not thirty minutes ago, Dean was on the phone with Sam so he could ask for…for…

Okay, that one’s forgivable, because to Sam’s knowledge, that was…couple’s advice. He didn’t need to know that Dean was just asking as a concerned friend.

Fuck. 

Their eyes meet, and if Dean isn’t mistaken, Cas looks a shade more relaxed at seeing what must be a look of bewilderment on Dean’s face.

“Tectonic…in _days_ ,” Cas says cryptically, giving Dean a pointed look.

Dean nods, because he knows exactly what Cas means. Damn, he wishes they could just talk like normal people right now, instead of having to rely on code and looks and touches. Those things can be effective too sometimes, but for situations like this, it’s like trying to read a novel written through tweets.

“Wanna take a shower with me?” Dean asks, hoping Cas catches what he’s thinking.

There’s a moment of an unimpressed look, but it slides off quickly when Dean raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

“Yes. Let me just…” Cas trails off, chugging down the rest of his wine, then setting the glass down. He shudders in a way that end up looking like he’s trying to shake water from his ear, and Dean snorts, because he doesn’t know that it would be possible to chug wine and _not_ do the Nyquil Dance, as John used to call it.

Cas’ face screws up and he smacks his lips a couple times in a way that looks a lot like a cat trying to get fur off its tongue, as he stands up. “Never let me do that again.”

“You did it at the cabin,” Dean points out as they make their way out of the living room.

“That was sweet white wine. Whole different creature from a dry red,” Cas clarifies, thankfully in simple terms, because Dean knows fuck all about wine.

A minute later, they’re stripping down for the shower, neither man even attempting to ogle the other as they step in, once the water is comfortable. They each take a moment to get wetted down, and without a thought, Dean grabs up Cas’ shampoo and squirts some out as he steps toward Cas. An odd look crosses his face when he sees what Dean is doing, and Dean almost scoffs at the borderline incredulousness, until he remembers… _it’s only been one week_. Stepping back a few inches, Dean holds out the hand with the shampoo pooled in his palm.

“Sorry,” he looks off to the side, because wow, that was definitely an intimate move to go right in for. Awesome. Naked, wet, _and_ otherwise feeling exposed. He can’t look at Cas, but Cas isn’t scooping the shampoo out of his hand either, so Dean grabs the man’s hand instead, and does it himself, cheeks burning.

Clearing his throat, Dean snakes his hand around Cas to rinse the shampoo residue off, and tries to get back to his original task, by willing himself back into that supportive-talkative mindset he’d had before they came in here. Cas still isn’t saying anything and hasn’t moved.

“Been worried about you,” Dean begins, reaching for his own shampoo. “I’m not good at knowing how to help, and I’m sorry if I’ve been making it worse. Even called Sam to ask what to do- didn’t tell him any private stuff…just told him the bare minimum so he could give me some ideas. And I still don’t know, even though he did a good job with what I gave him. So I guess…can you just tell me what you need me to do so you can feel better? If you know, I mean.”

God, that was a train wreck. A giant, rambly, clusterfuck of a train wreck. Figuring he said what he can for now though, Dean starts lathering up his own hair, glad to have the excuse to close his eyes while he waits on Cas to do what he will with Dean’s words. A few seconds later, the smell of Cas’ shampoo gets stronger, and Dean can sense the man moving, so he figures that Cas has moved on to not wasting the warm water- and therefore their limited private conversation time- either. About the time Dean is ready to rinse, Cas grabs him by the shoulders and carefully maneuvers him around so that Dean can get under the spray, and Dean goes easily, glad for the assist; the suds had run right down his face.

Instead of trying to switch places again once he’s rinsed, Dean leans against the shower wall and angles the showerhead so that Cas can rinse without anyone ending up being elbowed in the small space. Returning the favor from a moment ago, Dean guides him to the right spot, and watches the way Cas’ lips tug in a small, appreciative smile. Well, there’s a good sign. Once Cas is rinsed and ready to open his eyes again though, the smile melts off into a thoughtful look.

“I don’t know what to do with you, Dean,” Cas confesses on a murmur, mindful of his volume. “I’m confused.”

“About what?” Dean asks softly.

Cas grabs up a bottle of conditioner, and Dean idly muses on how much wilder Cas’ hair must be without it. How he must have looked when he was a kid, and didn’t care about things like that; Cas was probably cute as fuck, if that picture he saw in Crowley’s office was any indication.

“Look at us,” Cas whispers, gesturing between them. “We’re taking a shower together like it’s normal, and you’re being all concerned, and we _know_ things about each other, and it’s only been a goddamned _week_ ,” he says, looking helpless and aggravated with himself. “I don’t _do_ this, Dean; not so fast. I’m-I’m attached, and I think you are too, and I don’t know how much is real, and how much is because of circumstance. I don’t even know what to call this,” he gestures between them again.

Dean pours up some body wash in his own pouf, trying to unravel everything Cas was trying to communicate, and what to address first. Cas scrubs the conditioner out of his hair with unnecessary vigor, while Dean works the suds up with his body wash, thinking for a minute. This can get so damned sticky so damned fast, if he isn’t careful with his answer, and he sure as hell doesn’t want Cas going all ‘no one’s home’ again after Dean finally got him talking.

“Well, it would’ve been nice to get to know each other over time like normal people, but time and circumstance don’t change the facts of what we know about each other. And the stuff I know so far, makes me glad to know you either way. As for the showering…come on, man; we already wanted to get naked together before shit even hit the fan.” Dean summons a smirk, and begins soaping himself down.

 _There. Sincere and reassuring, but not all embarrassing and feelsy. Diplomatic, even_ , Dean mentally pats himself on the back.  

“It’s not that simple, though,” Cas huffs.

Dammit.

“Why not?” Dean asks, feigning ignorance. Jesus shit, he doesn’t want to have this conversation, and he hopes like hell that Cas decides it isn’t worth the risk to answer the loaded two-word question, and blows it off.

But no, Cas gives him a _look._ The Skeptical Eyebrow Look.

Dean shoots Cas a look of his own, that he hopes screams every inch of ‘Don’t go there, Cas’.

“So if I were able to fly under the radar right now and go fuck someone else, you’d be completely okay with that,” Cas needles, still holding that damned look.

There is absolutely no good way to answer that, so Dean glares, despite knowing that it’s an answer in itself.

“Exactly,” Cas says seriously. “It’s not simple, Dean,” he reiterates, starting to scrub his body down.

“Well what would make it simple then, huh Cas?” Dean hisses, frustrated.

Cas gives him the glare of all glares now, the likes of which Dean hasn’t received from the man in a few weeks. “You _know_ what,” he says, wrenching the shower head forcefully enough toward Dean that Dean is a little concerned that it might come off.

This is definitely a new one for Dean, having an argument in a shower with someone. But of fucking course, he’d manage to do it with Cas, and _of course,_ it would be because they’re both dancing around a conversation. Ah, just like old times. Good stuff.

“No, maybe I don’t, so why don’t you just say it, Cas,” Dean challenges. He knows it’s pointless drawing this out, but like hell is he laying his cards out first, when Cas is the one that started this.

Cas narrows his eyes, and Dean ignores him, finishing his own rinse-down, then turns the showerhead much less forcefully- because he really is concerned for its stability now- toward Cas.

“That,” Cas growls, stepping into Dean’s space and pointing upward. “That _right_ there. Even in the middle of an argument, you’re still being thoughtful, you asshole. How am I supposed to feel, when I’m trying to be mad at you, and you’re still doing that?”

“You did it too, you damned hypocrite,” Dean retorts, taking his own turn to point upward. “So what the fuck is going on? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, you look like you’re pissed off that you might care about me, and for once, that’s something that actually _isn’t_ my fault. And you know what else? I’m _not_ pissed that I care about _you_ , even though it would make my life a hell of a lot easier if I didn’t. I’m content to just do it, and I don’t know why you’re so mad at me for it!”

“I’m not mad, I’m scared!” Cas blurts.

Within a breath, Cas blanches, and Dean sees it the moment the man looks like he doesn’t know whether he wants to puke, pass out, or attempt to escape into another dimension. Dean grabs him by the shoulders to steady him, just in case.

“No no no, none of that,” Dean murmurs, alarmed, and bringing up one hand to cup Cas’ jaw. “Don’t leave me again, Cas, come on.”

“Leave you?” Cas asks, looking disoriented, but not pushing Dean away.

“Here,” Dean replies, tapping Cas’ temple. “Please.”

Cas blinks, as if clearing the glaze from his eyes, and stares for a moment. Dean lets him, because the conversation already ran off the rails, and there’s really no point in trying to hide anymore. But then Cas lurches forward without any warning, coming in for a kiss. Dean only has a split second to grasp what’s happening, and make his lips catch up to the action, letting Cas take what he wants.

The kiss starts with a firm sort of desperation, but soon enough Dean feels a fine tremor in Cas’ body beneath his hands, and feeling Cas shake makes Dean’s heart twist harshly enough that his own hands start shaking. The kiss softens after a moment, because they have no choice with how unsteady they both feel, then tapers off; it’s too terrifying and too intense to keep going, and neither of them opens their eyes when Cas leans his forehead against Dean’s so they can take a moment to just breathe. The water is starting to run lukewarm, but neither mentions it, because moving right now is just inconceivable.

Even with the water running, Dean can hear the way Cas swallows, and involuntarily, Dean does too.

“Please don’t hurt me, Dean,” Cas whispers, starting to shake even harder, and sounding so incredibly, achingly small. “I can’t do it again…please.”

Dean’s breath catches in his chest so hard it almost hurts, with how overwhelmed he is; by Cas, by himself, their situation… _everything._ He doesn’t know exactly what they’re doing right now, but does know one thing: the last thing he wants to do is hurt the man in his arms, and he wishes he could go back in time and kick every last fucker that hurt Cas, right in the balls. He doesn’t ever want Cas to sound like this again, and it’s terrifying to know that he could just as easily end up joining said fuckers on Cas’ list, even if on accident.

“Don’t do it, Cas,” Dean shakes his head against Cas’. “I’m not worth it. It scares the shit out of me- because I could- and I can’t do it again, either. Can’t do it to someone else.”

Cas pulls back, bringing those wide, pleading kitten eyes up to Dean’s. That look…that fucking look is _horrible_.

“You don’t want me,” he says, voice too hollow for the look on his face.

Oh Christ, Dean’s heart isn’t going to survive the way it’s been squeezed and dropped, and pushed up and out of place, and how hard it’s been pumping for the last several minutes. And now that glazed look is starting to cloud Cas’ eyes again, and Dean knows that he won’t get Cas back, if he lets him retreat this time. Maybe not ever. He’ll go back to cool tones, neutral expressions, polite smiles, and incredulous looks.

Dean was supposed to have more time. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. They were supposed to keep playing along in the shitshow their lives have become for a while, and Dean was supposed to go through his counseling and figure out how to do this stuff. There was supposed to be some more avoiding, and moments and stuff, and Dean was trying to be reasonable and not to take advantage of a delicate situation for each of them. _This wasn’t supposed to happen yet!_ Like a portal coming quickly to a close though, Cas’ face is closing off more with each silent second, and Dean is going to end up on the wrong side and never see this Cas again.

“No!” Dean blurts in his distress, and pulls Cas in desperately, scared for a delirious moment that the blue portal of the man’s eyes could physically take him away from Dean. “Don’t do that Cas, don’t go. I-I want you,” he squeezes tighter. “ _Please._ ”

His voice is wobbling embarrassingly, and the water’s gone cold now, which isn’t helping the situation at all. Cas sniffles in the vicinity of Dean’s neck and wraps cold arms around Dean’s waist. They stay that way for a few seconds, but Cas cuts the moment off with a harsh shiver, and five words that make a relieved breath whoosh from Dean’s lungs.

“Come to bed with me?”

Dean nods enthusiastically against the side of Cas’ head, earning a watery little laugh, before Cas pulls back and turns to shut the water off. When he straightens back up and their eyes meet, he looks as uncertain as Dean feels, but the shaky little smile that tugs at his lips is oddly reassuring.

The portal didn’t close on him.

 

 


	21. Thirst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I'm just gonna leave this here...
> 
> I don't know, man. Stuff. Thangs!

They make it as far as toweling off their hair, before Cas is just too cold and his nerves are too amped anymore, to resist grabbing Dean by the wrist and hauling him to the bedroom, wet bodies be damned. He almost yanks the comforter completely off the bed in his haste to move it so they can get under it and warm up and…do whatever they end up doing. He doesn’t care; he just wants Dean and both his literal and metaphorical warmth, and that closeness he knows now, isn’t just his own need for support in a difficult time. And god, does he know it; with every little kiss and shoulder squeeze and circle rubbed on his back the last couple of days, it became more and more clear.

The pile of Things to Be Examined Later toppled over, whether he wanted it to or not.

Now that they’re under the covers, arms and legs wrapped around each other in an attempt to smooth out goosebump-covered skin, it…well, it’s pretty damned awkward. Neither man says anything for at least a few minutes, and Cas doesn’t know where he’s supposed to look, so he cops out by closing his eyes. After that scene in the shower, it would seem like they should be kissing or talking or _something_ , but at the same time, kissing feels like it would be too intense to just dive right into, and talking meaningfully isn’t something Cas wants to do, either; it’s too fresh. Initiating sex without preamble is even more awkward to think about than the other two things combined, as if it would cheapen what just happened, somehow.

Cas is seriously contemplating just going to sleep before he can start backtracking and considering what a bad idea it was to say anything, when Dean breaks the silence.

“So…what do we do now?”

“Um…good question,” Cas replies, internally cringing. Yeah, nothing says ‘I want you’, like having no clue what to do once you find out that you’re wanted too. And curled up naked with the other person. After being the one to instigate the conversation.

Dean gives a little laugh that’s more breath than sound. “We kinda suck at this.”

Cas gives his own laugh at that, and can feel the wry smile pulling at his lips, but still doesn’t know what to say after his- now that he thinks about it- rather dramatic display.

“Why are you blushing?” Dean whispers with a smile in the shape of his words as he traces a fingertip over Cas’ cheek. Naturally, it only serves to make Cas’ face go even hotter.

“Because you’ve seen _me_ make an ass of myself like eighty times now,” Cas replies in an echo of Dean’s words from nights ago. He’s still not brave enough to open his eyes. “I um, the way I’ve been acting recently isn’t typical for me. At all.”

It doesn’t help his courage at all, when that fingertip moves to trace over his brow, the outside corner of his eye, down his nose, and then becomes a thumb, tracing just beneath his lower lip, feeling out the shape. Dean doesn’t say anything for a moment as he continues his light touches, moving over to the shell of Cas’ ear, the line of his jaw, the side of his neck. No one has ever touched him this way, and as has become one of the standard reactions he seems to have to Dean, Cas doesn’t know what to do with it.

“So you mean to tell me that you _aren’t_ typically a sarcastic little shit with confrontational tendencies, a barely contained dorky side, and a secret love of seeing just how much you can get away with sometimes,” Dean teases lightly.

Cas does open his eyes at that, unsure of whether he should allow the deflection or not, considering exactly what just happened, and what they’re attempting to do. Dean must see what he’s thinking, because he sighs softly, and looks down.

“You didn’t make an ass of yourself,” Dean says lowly, hand coming back up to trace slowly along Cas’ cheekbone and over his brow again, and eyes following his own fingers. There’s an odd look of something almost like fascination on his face, as if he’s surprised that Cas is letting him touch him this way.

When their eyes meet again, Dean’s eyes widen fractionally, and Cas gets the impression that the eye contact startled him from whatever he’s thinking about. Did Dean forget that Cas could see him? What is supposed to be an internal snort of fond amusement ends up making itself external, and Cas immediately presses his lips together, feeling like an asshole for it.

“What was that?” Dean asks.

“Nothing,” Cas replies, then has to bite his lip.

Oh god, no. No, this can _not_ happen right now. This is absolutely not the time in any way, shape, or form, to start with the weird laughter. Not that there’s ever a good time for it, but still.

Dean pushes up on his elbow, so he can rest his head against his hand and look down at Cas.

“Come on, dude. You’ve got that SpongeBob-trying not to giggle-face going,” Dean prods.

Unfortunately, Cas knows exactly what face Dean is talking about, and it does absolutely nothing to help the situation.

“It’s not even funny…I’m just having one of those…” Cas trails off, pointing helplessly at his own face. When Dean only quirks a brow, an odd sound chokes off in Cas’ throat as he tries to contain himself.

“Oh my god,” Dean mutters, running a hand over his face, getting it now. “Cas, come on.”

Cas has to close his eyes in an effort not to let it get away from him this time, and shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, but his voice comes out wobbly, in his effort to hold himself back.

Dean sighs, then surprises Cas by leaning in and kissing the corner of his mouth. Involuntarily, a wide grin stretches his face, and then there goes the first chuckle. This time though, it doesn’t feel purely like nervous laughter; not in the bad way. Dean does it again, and more laughter trickles out, so Dean keeps doing it, his own chuckles joining in now. He’s been making his way toward Cas’ neck, but instead of the kiss Cas is expecting, Dean does something that rips quite possibly the most embarrassing sound Cas could ever imagine coming from his own mouth.

Dean blows a fucking raspberry on his neck.

“Dean!”

Cas…goddammit, he fucking _squeals_ , as he squirms away.

Those deep green eyes go wide in surprise, then brighten with a childish sort of mirth, and before Cas can get too far away, Dean does it again, full on laughing as he pulls back.

“You…you fucker,” Cas chokes out around his giggles, clapping a protective hand over the side of his neck.

Dean dips in again, but this time, he just kisses the back of Cas’ hand, chuckling around it. “Holy shit, that _sound_. You didn’t injure something, did you?” he teases, cheesy grin in place.

Cas clears his throat a couple times and takes a deep breath. “No, I think I’m okay,” he replies, though he is a little raggedy-sounding from all the laughter.

When they make eye contact again, there’s a goofy-fond smile on Dean’s face that Cas is pretty sure matches his own. It takes an immense effort not to let himself start worrying again, when it strikes him what exactly it is that they’re sort-of doing. Dean, the perceptive person that he is, sees it of course, and sobers with a soft sigh through his nose.

“I know, Cas,” Dean whispers. “But for now, can we just be okay with knowing,” he trails off as he grabs Cas’ hand and presses it over his heart. Then Dean presses his own hand over Cas’ heart, giving a pleading look that begs not to have to say more.

Cas can feel the steady breaths rising and falling from Dean’s chest, and faintly, feels the thump of the man’s heart beneath his palm. For such a small gesture, it feels surprisingly intimate, and Cas understands what Dean means.

Instead of answering with words, Cas nods, and deliberately flicks his eyes down to Dean’s lips in a silent request; he already kiss-attacked Dean once today, and that was enough. He can’t bring himself to ask outright for more. Dean seems to understand though, and with a small smile, grants Cas the kiss he ‘asked’ for. Within seconds, Cas knows that this is unlike any other one they’ve shared; this kiss is wholly intentional in its affection, on both ends. Apparently, when Dean lets himself kiss with the sole purpose of showing his care, it’s just as attentive and sincere as everything else he does, and it’s impossible not to feel flattered at being on the receiving end of such focus.

It’s slow. And deep. Two things that Cas has honestly never had much experience with, but with every lick against the roof of his mouth, and slow, gentle caress of their tongues, Cas melts just a little bit more into it. Like most things that melt though, the kiss retains a certain level of heat that unchecked, simmers until it starts to come to a low boil, low moans and hums rising to the surface, slowly, then gaining in numbers. When it comes to a point that they’re getting too excited to keep going without taking a moment to part and breathe, Cas is abruptly aware of the way their hands have moved from slow drags to outright groping.

Frankly, he has two large handfuls of Dean’s ass in his hands, and the idea of moving them away from where they’ve been squeezing sounds like a horrible idea. Especially with the way Dean is half on top of him now, idly rutting against Cas’ hip with each squeeze, and fingers tugging in his hair just shy of the way Cas _really_ enjoys. Without a thought, Cas shifts so that Dean is actually on top of him, and pointedly uses the leverage of his hands to pull Dean in for a nice grind.

“Cas,” Dean mutters, voice already gone husky. And oh god, that’s a sound he loves to hear.

A faint blush of arousal is tingeing Dean’s cheeks and those green eyes have gone dark, and Cas knows instantly that he wants to see that blush deepen from exertion.

“Give me your cock, Dean,” Cas says, releasing his hold on Dean’s ass, to pointedly wrap his legs around Dean’s hips and pull him in for another grind.

A shudder rolls through Dean at that as his hips give an involuntary jerk. “God, yes,” he says with a belated nod.

Without further prompting, Dean makes his way down Cas’ body, eyes much more heated than Cas has seen before, and the sight shoots straight to his cock. But then the sight joins physical sensation when Dean attaches his mouth to a nipple, flicking a devious tongue over it that has Cas inhaling a sharp breath. Dean chuckles, then moves over to the other nipple, giving it the same attention. He pulls back after a moment though, and licks more broadly around the areola.

“This stupid freckle here? I’ve wanted to lick it since the moment I saw it,” Dean says, then dips down to do exactly that, then runs his tongue back over to the nipple. He ends the process by blowing a stream of cool air over the trail he’d made, giving a cheeky grin when Cas hisses a breath through his teeth.

Dean makes a torturous trek down Cas’ torso, littering it with kisses, licks, and harsh sucks that Cas is fairly certain will turn into hickeys by morning. When Dean reaches his right hipbone, he rakes gentle teeth over the ridge of it, and Cas has an odd moment as he looks down, and could swear that Dean looks like he’d enjoy taking a bite out of him. The thought should be horrifying, but all Cas can feel is his cock twitching at the blatant lust burning in those green eyes; holy _shit_ no one has _ever_ looked at Cas like that. But then Dean eyes his cock and licks his lips as if eyeballing a particularly delicious treat, and that’s all the warning Cas gets, before his cock is disappearing into the hot, wet, tightness of Dean’s mouth.

“Holy shit!” Cas gasps, only barely stopping himself from bucking his hips.

Dean- the bastard- actually _chuckles_ around the cock in his mouth, but whatever indignant reaction Cas could possibly have doesn’t have the chance to rise, because then there’s glorious suction and tongue, and...and… _oh god_ Dean is taking him all the way down. It’s so obscene-looking, and far more stimulating than the imagery he’d jerked off to when he’d recorded himself to tease the hell out of Dean. No, the reality of this, as Dean works his tongue around the shaft and keeps humming these little noises of pleasure as he bobs, is _nowhere close_ to what his own brain had cooked up.

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” Cas pants, then groans when Dean sinks down again and hums, in conjunction with a fingertip finding Cas’ hole and pressing down in a suggestion of what’s in store. The realization that Dean genuinely likes sucking cock- or at least Cas’- is a revelation that Cas didn’t expect, and the thought is too arousing to let this blow job go on, or he’ll come before the fun really begins. It’s a testament to his self-control, that Cas manages to pry his fingers loose from where they're fisted in the sheet, and reach down to tug at Dean’s hair.

“Stop,” Cas breathes, then nearly whines when Dean does as he was asked. The disappointment is only tempered by the fact that Dean replaces his mouth with his hand, giving long, too light strokes to Cas’ cock.

“Doesn’t look like that’s what you wanted to say,” Dean smirks, tightening his grip on the next down stroke.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Cas snips…or he tries to, anyway. It mostly just ends up sounding like an automatic response more than a scolding, even in his own ears.

Dean must hear it too, because he just chuckles, looking beyond pleased with himself. “I don’t mind to keep going, you know. You’ll still get what you want, either way,” he says, voice unfairly deep and roughened from what he’d been doing just ten seconds before. Then, as if to emphasize his point, he takes the head of Cas’ cock in and gives it a little suckle, humming a pleased noise as he tongues at the slit.

Cas shakes his head, then swallows around an already dry throat. “Want to come on your cock this time.”

Dean closes his eyes and groans at that, so Cas figures it was worth the bit of embarrassment at being so forward with what he wants for himself. He can tell a lover what he wants to do them with no problem, but voicing his own desires in explicit terms has always felt a little too personal. The only reason he can do it now, is because, well. Dean. If _he_ can be shameless about saying those things, then Cas supposes the man has no desire to judge for being given the same treatment.

“Turn over. Wanna try something,” Dean orders, shifting up to his knees, then leaning over to retrieve a bottle of lube from the nightstand that definitely hadn’t been there the last time they had sex.

Cas quirks a brow, smirking at Dean when they make eye contact, which earns him a challenging look that clearly says he isn’t taking Cas’ shit.

“Don’t even with that face. You have no idea the shit that’s gone through my head, and I am so not apologizing for making sure we’ve got the stuff on hand to help those things happen. Now turn the hell over so I can try one of them,” Dean says, then quirks his own eyebrow and tilts his head a little bit. “Unless you really don’t have any interest in finding out if I can lick an asshole worth a damn.”

“Oh,” Cas says dumbly, then flips over, internally cringing at how fast he moved to comply.

_Wow, eager much?_

Dean snorts a laugh as he makes his way back over, but instead of getting right to it once he’s righted himself, he straddles the backs of Cas’ thighs and dips down to press a kiss to Cas’ shoulder blade. He kisses his way over to the back of Cas’ neck, then turns to suck a little kiss to the side, beneath his ear, eliciting a shiver when his breath tickles at the sensitive spot.

“I mean it when I say you’re finding out, because I’ve never tried it before. So you gotta tell me if I’m doing it wrong, or could do it better,” Dean murmurs next to his ear. “If you don’t wanna be the guinea pig though, you need to let me know.”

“You’ve really never…?” Cas whispers, surprised.

“You’re only the fifth guy I’ve been full-on with, Cas,” Dean admits quietly. “And the _only_ one that I’ll have been with more than once. Ladies tend to be a little more interested in other parts being licked, so…”

Without a thought, Cas brings an arm up behind himself to pet at Dean’s flank, hoping the awkward angle doesn’t detract from the affection behind the motion. Cas never would’ve expected to take one of Dean’s firsts; not that he’d formed any real assumptions about Dean’s experience, but it’s still surprising to Cas, that Dean had never even done it with a woman. Not with how sensual Dean seems to be.

“I want to find out with you, Dean,” Cas replies earnestly, rubbing his thumb over Dean’s side. “And I won’t be offended if you change your mind,” he’s quick to add.

Dean presses another kiss to Cas’ shoulder, and moves down wordlessly, dropping more kisses every few inches over his spine, until he gets low enough to squeeze at Cas’ hip in a silent request to push his ass up in the air. Dean rubs appreciatively at Cas’ ass cheeks, humming a pleased sound when he spreads them to take a look, and brushes a dry finger over his hole. It may be a lewd thought, but it’s hard not to preen a little bit at the knowledge that Dean seems to like what he’s seeing, even if there really isn’t all that much one can do about the way their asshole looks. Not without going to bleaching and waxing extremes, anyway, which…ow. No. Despite seeming pleased, Dean still hesitates a bit as he kisses Cas’ tailbone, but doesn’t wait more than a breath before giving the first tentative lick. Figuring Dean will need the verbal feedback, Cas lets himself sigh happily and pillow his head on his arms. It seems to be enough, and Dean comes in for a bolder swipe, flattening his tongue and applying a bit more pressure.

“Mmmmyes,” Cas purrs, hips twitching of their own volition with each new slide of tongue against his hole.

In all honesty, it’s kind of difficult to mess up a rim job, so Cas doesn’t end up having to say much as Dean continues on. With every moan and ‘do that again’ and ‘ _fuck, Dean_ ’, Dean gains more confidence and even seems to be enjoying himself. In fact, he gains enough confidence, that he surprises Cas by pressing the tip of his tongue inside his hole, and the sound that ends up being punched out of him is answered by a low groan that vibrates around the sensitive flesh. It takes an immense effort not to clamp down around and scare Dean away, and Cas is rewarded when he receives a deeper press of tongue that elicits a moan that he doesn’t even attempt to hold in. Dean pulls back with a dirty chuckle, and Cas’ hips push back automatically, chasing the touch.

“You really like this, don’t you?” Dean asks, rubbing his thumb with a teasing pressure over Cas’ hole.

“I’m guessing you’ve never _received_ , either then?” Cas asks, looking over his shoulder.

“No, but apparently I’ve been missing out on something,” Dean shrugs with a little smile.

“How are you feeling so far?” Cas feels the need to ask.

“I like making you make noise, I’ll say that,” Dean smirks. “But I think I could do better,” he says, then dips back in to push his tongue right in, and Cas is helpless to stop the gasp that comes out.

That seems to be encouragement enough, and Dean sets right to tongue-fucking Cas’ hole like a man on a mission, and Cas can’t hold back anymore, starting to push his hips back to meet Dean’s thrusts and muttering curses.

“Dean… _Dean,_ add a finger,” Cas orders, pushing his ass higher in the air.

“Like at the same time?”

“If you want.”

There’s the distinct sound of a finger being sucked, and then Dean is pressing in a thick finger and tentatively licking around the rim, easing the slight burn. He works his finger in and out a few times, and apparently satisfied with the give, presses the tip of his tongue in alongside his finger. It only lasts for a moment though.

“I think that’ll go easier once we have some flavored lube. Don’t wanna chafe the hell out of you just using spit, but regular lube is kinda…ugh,” Dean proclaims.

Cas snorts a laugh, and the motion of his muscles ends up tightening his ass around Dean’s finger on accident, earning an odd sound from Dean. When he looks over his shoulder, Dean’s lips are pressed tightly together, until he catches Cas’ eye.

“God, you’re gonna feel good around my cock,” Dean says by explanation, picking up the pace of his finger. “Can’t wait to see what this ass can do,” he adds, then surprises Cas with a nip to his left cheek.

Thankfully, Dean doesn’t waste any time after that, and opens Cas up with a sort of efficiency that’s just this side of too fast under normal conditions, but Cas is nowhere near complaining; Dean wasn’t wrong when he’d suggested that Cas liked it a little rough sometimes. And right now? Cas is worked up enough after all of Dean’s teasing, that he’s ready to get down to business and get Dean inside him as soon as possible. It doesn’t escape Cas’ notice that Dean hasn’t touched his prostate, but he has no doubt that it’s been purposeful, in the confidence with which Dean has been working his fingers. The wisp of a thought breezes through Cas’ head that Dean must usually top, but before he can consider the implications of the fact that he’d eagerly bottomed for Cas, Dean gives a very deliberate rub against his prostate.

“Fuck!” Cas shouts, instinctively rocking back hard onto Dean’s fingers in search of more of that touch.

“Oh shit,” Dean breathes, hand stilling as if shocked at Cas’ response. As if Cas would just passively accept the ministrations. Pffft.

This time, the way Cas shoves his ass back is entirely purposeful; demanding. It works for a moment, but then Dean seems to come back to himself and clasps a hand around Cas’ hip, holding him in place.

“Not yet. One more finger, okay? Not bragging, but seriously, I promise you want the fourth finger,” Dean says, tone brooking no argument as he flicks the lid open on the lube.

Cas grits his teeth, self-control and patience starting to wear thin, now that he knows how close he is to getting what he wants. And frankly, he’s wanted Dean’s dick for longer than he cares to admit, and the first time he saw it in the closet that day only served to confirm that maybe Cas was a little thirsty for it. He doesn’t dare say any of this though, choosing instead to let out a deep breath and will himself into a calmer mindset. Dean takes his silence as the agreement that it is, and gingerly pushes his pinkie in alongside the other three fingers, more carefully than before. This time, Cas is thankful for the care, because the stretch is a bit much, even for his own inclinations.

Dean soothes him with kisses to his tailbone, and reaching around to stroke his cock, which deflated a bit with the extra burn. It takes a minute, but soon the burn dwindles down, then turns to pleasure when Dean rewards him with another stroke against his prostate. Cas grunts at the sensation, then whips his head over his shoulder with a look that dares Dean to drag it out any longer, and Dean grins wide and toothy.

“Someone feeling a little impatient?” Dean teases, withdrawing his hand carefully.

“Put on a condom, because I intend on getting fucked hard enough that I’m not going to want to touch my ass more than necessary over the next 24 hours,” Cas says, by way of response.

Dean sucks in a breath, but moves quickly to comply, taking his own turn to look eager. Cas is surprised that the condom is still intact with the force Dean opens the wrapper and rolls it down on himself. Using the excess lube on his fingers, Dean slicks himself down, and seeing that Cas isn’t interested in taking a new position, presses the head of his cock against Cas’ entrance. Despite his excitement, Dean is still careful to push in slowly, and Cas is incredibly grateful that Dean had the foresight to offer the fourth finger. Of course he knew that Dean was well-endowed, but seeing and feeling are two different things, and _Christ_.

“Holy Mother of _Fuck_ ,” Dean wheezes, having to pause about halfway in. “Baby, I don’t think either of us are going to survive if you intend on getting it rough this time.”

Freely getting the pet name makes a shiver run down Cas’ spine, then a second shiver zips through a few seconds later, when Dean runs a calloused yet gentle hand up and down his outer thigh.

“Can you relax any more?” Dean asks, voice tight, but calm. “Don’t wanna hurt you,” he adds, punctuating the statement by bending over carefully and kissing Cas’ back.

Cas can only nod, because at this point, it feels like he’s already so full that he doesn’t have room for his lungs. He focuses on relaxing, not even having realized he’d tensed in the first place, and after a few seconds, Dean lets out a relieved breath that Cas echoes, as he feels like he can breathe again. Dean creeps the rest of the way in, waiting again once he’s bottomed out, and Cas feels it, the moment his body accepts the intrusion and is ready to start enjoying it. He pushes back a little, and finding that he’s correct, gives Dean a simple, “Move.”

“Thank god,” Dean mutters, then starts up a slow pace to ease them both into it.

It only takes a minute or so before Dean bends down and resettles his weight over Cas, so that he can kiss the back of his neck, the top of his shoulders, whatever he can reach as they build a rhythm.

“You’re awfully quiet. You okay?” Dean asks, though he doesn’t stop his motions.

“Just enjoying myself,” Cas says honestly. “You feel…” he trails off with a shudder when Dean thrusts a little harder. “God, I can’t…” he tries again, but fails to complete his thought as he pushes back to meet the next thrust with a loud grunt.

Dean obliges him by speeding up a bit, and it feels good, but the longer it goes on, the more Cas can feel that need to get it harder building. He tries to goad Dean on by pushing back harder, but Dean only ups it enough on the next thrust to be frustrating.

“Cas,” Dean intones warningly, “I’m getting there, alright? Just want to make sure you’re—“

He doesn’t get to finish that thought, because Cas pulls away and turns around to glare at him.

“If you’re so damned worried, I’ll do it myself,” he snaps, and when Dean doesn’t get the gist fast enough, Cas- in one of his less prideful moments- practically tackles Dean down onto the mattress.

Dean’s eyes fly wide open in a manner similar to the time Cas picked him up, but Cas just crawls right up on Dean’s lap and leans forward to balance himself with a hand on Dean’s chest.

“Any objections?” he asks, because even though he’s impatient, the last thing he wants to do is take away Dean’s choice.

“Christ, Cas, you really want it that bad?” Dean asks, but there’s only surprise, and not a hint of mockery or boastfulness.

“I like fucking, and I like being fucked. So, let’s start doing some of that, shall we?”

Dean swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing harshly as his eyes darken in a way that nearly makes Cas shudder at how turned on the man beneath him looks. To his surprise, Dean reaches down and guides himself along Cas’ crack until he finds his target, and holds still so Cas can lower himself. Wasting no time, Cas sinks down, letting out a relieved groan at being full again, and taking a deep breath in preparation for what he’s about to do.

Dean’s hands come up to grip around Cas’ hips, and he lets out a deep rumble that’s somewhere between a hum and a growl. “Alright then. Ride my cock, Cas. Show me what you want.”

Cas knows his smile must be something wolfish, because Dean’s eyebrows go up a little bit.

_Oh, Dean. You have no idea._

And with that, Cas lifts himself, then slams right back down, gasping at the sensation just as much as Dean. God, he wants to take this man apart at the seams, and with that single notion, Cas doesn’t hold back on filling Dean’s request. Watching the way Dean’s eyes go feverish and wild with arousal at Cas’ harsh slams over the next couple minutes is just as heady as the way the man’s fingers are clutching at his hips as if holding on for dear life. Cas wants- _god_ , does he want- and Dean has no interest in stopping him, so Cas _takes_. He takes with a ferocity that even for him, is beyond his usual self-imposed limits, and leans back to rest his weight on his hands on Dean’s thighs as he fucks himself with abandon; he wants Dean to see his cock disappearing into Cas’ body. Wants this image and this moment burned into Dean’s memory, so that the man never forgets what it’s like to be wanted with this sort of intensity; Dean _deserves_ to feel like he’s valuable enough to get this sort of reaction. And fuck if Cas doesn’t also- selfishly- want to ruin the man for anyone else.

“ _Cas! Holy…oh my fuck,_ ” Dean babbles, voice so tight it sounds like he’s being strangled.

The sight of Dean looking so wild and coming apart exactly as Cas planned is intoxicating, and Cas doesn’t even attempt to cover up how affected he is. There is also absolutely no chance that Cas won’t have bruises around his thighs from Dean’s grip, and the thought pushes a loud grunt-groan from his mouth. Pushes him to roll his hips in the most sinful manner he can manage, wanting Dean to see and feel every goddamned bit of how turned on Cas is.

“Do it, Dean,” Cas pants, voice ragged as he comes down for a grind, dizzy and not entirely sure of what he’s demanding until the words are tumbling out. “Show me why I’m yours.”

A loud, almost animalistic snarl claws its way out of Dean’s throat, and he sits up abruptly, using his grip to pull Cas up and bring him down on his cock and rock his hips for a deep grind that steals Cas’ breath. He only barely fills his lungs back up, before Dean’s mouth is on him, claiming every inch of Cas’ mouth with his tongue. It only last a moment though, before he continues guiding Cas’ hips, pulling him up and down with a shocking strength. The display is more than Cas can take, and he loses his damned mind when Dean pulls him close enough, that his cock gets exactly enough friction to send him flying apart. The near-scream that lets loose from his throat is only barely muffled by Dean’s shoulder, where he’s clamped his teeth down in a subconscious effort not to deafen the man. Dean grapples desperately at Cas’ back, seeking purchase as he shakes violently through his own release, apparently only capable of making a dry sobbing sound as he holds Cas crushingly tight against him.

Neither man is able to move for several minutes, aside from the weak lift of Cas’ hips to free Dean’s cock from his hole, where it’s already starting to ache. As soon as he’s resituated on Dean’s lap, Cas unfolds his legs so he can wrap them around Dean while they catch their breath. It feels like a few of his brain cells escaped through his dick, and Cas doesn’t bother trying to comprehend anything beyond the chemicals pumping furiously through his body as he comes down. Dean’s arms eventually loosen from where they’ve been locked, and as if they’d been the only thing holding either of them upright, both men collapse to their sides, and Cas rolls over without a thought so that Dean can spoon in behind him. Dean doesn’t disappoint, and takes the hint easily, flopping an arm over Cas’ waist and pulling him close to his chest. His hand starts rubbing little circles over Cas’ stomach, and it’s much more soothing than Cas would’ve expected, making him feel like he’s melting into the mattress and into Dean’s front.

“That…” Dean attempts, voice hoarse. He clears his throat, then tries again, not sounding much better than before. “I think I came hard enough to push out a testicle.”

Cas starts to laugh, but the effort is too much on his core muscles that really, haven’t had a workout like that in at least a year, and the laugh ends up morphing into a weak groan. Seeming to understand, Dean rubs at Cas’ stomach again and kisses the back of his head. He pulls back after a moment, then mutters a curse under his breath and trails light fingertips over Cas’ back.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I uh…you kinda look like you got whipped back here,” Dean says, sounding beyond sheepish. “Does that hurt?” he asks, touching what indeed is a bit of a tender spot, making Cas hiss a breath through his teeth. But then he remembers…

Rolling over faster than he probably should, Cas’ eyes zoom in on Dean’s shoulder. “Oh god…I _bit_ you!” There’s a bruise forming already, distinctly in the shape of a human bite, and one spot is actually bleeding a little bit. “I’m so sorry! Oh my god,” Cas says, horrified, and too afraid of hurting Dean to touch, but still ghosting his fingers over the mark. It looks bad, and probably hurts like hell, and guilt washes over him at the knowledge that he hurt Dean enough that he’ll probably need to get out the first aid kit. He can’t bring his eyes to meet Dean’s, and they nearly water with embarrassment when Dean tips his chin up to make him look.

“Not gonna lie, it hurts like a son of a bitch, but… _damn_ Baby. I don’t think I’ve ever made someone come hard enough that they didn’t realize they were biting me,” Dean says kindly, eyes shining with a bit of mirth, and no small amount of pride. Normally, Cas would feel compelled to roll his eyes, but considering that they both probably look like they survived a zombie attack, he can’t bring himself to begrudge Dean his bit of pride.

“I…should probably go to the bathroom,” Cas says, grimacing already at the prospect of…everything…back there.

Without prompting, Dean rolls off the bed and gets to his feet to offer Cas both hands up, which embarrassingly, he actually needs with how shaky his legs are.

“You hungry? Because I’m starving, and I was going to rustle up a snack. I don’t know your protocol with food in the bed, but I don’t mind to bring it in here for you,” Dean offers, tactfully dodging the blatant ‘you have no business sitting in a regular chair right now’ wording.

Nodding, Cas lets out a sigh; crumbs in the bed are nothing compared to the mess of fluids that are no doubt already taking up residence there. When he chances a glance at the bed, he isn’t surprised to see that the blanket is wrinkled up at the foot of the bed and hanging halfway off, and the top sheet is twisted all to hell and back. One of the pillows is on the floor, and the other seems to have worked itself halfway out of the case and is squished impossibly tight between the mattress and the headboard. All the signs of a _damn_ good time, and for once, Cas couldn’t give a shit less that he didn’t have a towel laid down, because that’s _exactly_ what a bed should look like after the most memorable sex of your life.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it so far, thanks for reading, it means a lot!
> 
> Wanna keep up with my progress? You can find me on [Tumblr](http://surly-cat.tumblr.com), and I tag my writing stuffs with [surlycat writes](http://surly-cat.tumblr.com/tagged/surlycat+writes).


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